Revenge
by darkntwisted
Summary: My sequel to 'Helplessness'. Clint thought he'd gotten away from Tasha. During a mission in the Amazon he and Steve are captured. Clint's nightmare continues. Can Captain America keep Hawkeye alive until the remaining Avengers find them? Read to find out. WARNING: physical and sexual abuse ahead. Clint/Hawkeye centric.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with 'The Avengers' be it the movies, the comics or cartoons. I am, however, obsessed with the 2012 movie. Any copyright infringement is not intended or inferred._

_Ok, this is my version of the sequel to 'Helplessness'. It would be very helpful if you read that story first but I do spend a moment or two explaining what came before in this first chapter. _

_This story is not Canon. I've based it on the 2012 'Avengers' movie. I know little of the back stories of all these characters but this story wouldn't leave me alone. It may not be plausible but I'm sure having too much fun with it._

_**Warning: There will be physical and sexual abuse ahead. **__If this isn't your cup of tea, you might want to try another sequel to 'Helplessness' being written by myownmind. She asked for permission and I gave it to her. She's heavily into hurt/comfort but wasn't too into the graphic sexual abuse stuff. So, try hers. Anyway, on with the story._

Chapter One

"I don't need a babysitter," Agent Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, grated. It had been two months since the attack on Avengers tower and Black Widow's escape from her cell. It had been longer than that since Agent Natasha Romanoff, aka Black Widow, had returned from a mission after going radio silent for twelve hours. Nick Fury himself had debriefed the woman because of the irregularity during the mission. He'd found nothing untoward about her responses or her medical tests. And yet, within days she drugged Clint Barton, her partner, broke three of his ribs and informed him that if he told any of the other Avenger team members that he was injured or that she had done it, she would kill them.

That was a hollow threat from pretty much anyone else in the world, except for Clint himself who was also a trained assassin. Tasha had also informed Clint that he had a man named Gordon Cave to blame. Cave had been an arms dealer that the two assassins had tried twice to eliminate. He was their only miss. Clint wasn't sure if it was because of his connections or just dumb luck. Either way, the man had captured, brainwashed and sent Tasha back to him, to make Barton suffer for destroying Cave's merchandise and his mansion.

Black Widow had done terrible things to Clint, both physically and sexually abusing him. He'd kept his end of the bargain, though, and not said a word to the others. It was the woman who cleaned his quarters that had found him unconscious and naked on his floor twice that finally broken the silence. He was grateful Sarah had. Thanks to her intervention Tasha was stopped without loss of life.

Since then, though, the other members of the Avengers and Nick Fury were feeling over protective. Despite all their combined efforts, Tasha and Cave remained at large. They refused to let Hawkeye go on a mission alone. Once he even tried to sneak off because he knew he could do it faster without a chaperone. Fury had been, well, furious. He'd been angry enough to insist that Clint have a tracking device inserted under the skin on his inner left bicep. That really pissed Clint off. He hated the thought that SHIELD knew where he was at all times.

"I beg to differ, Agent Barton," Nick Fury responded from the head of the table. The Avengers were gathered around the table in the command center. 3D images floated above it while other information covered every inch of its surface. "This mission is in the Amazon Basin. Our last known location for Black Widow and Gordon Cave are in Peru. That's too close for comfort. I'm not willing to take the chance even if you are."

"It's my chance to take. Besides, who are you going to saddle me with this time? Stark? Thor? Either one of them will be like dragging an elephant behind me when I need to be able to blend into my surroundings," Clint shot back. He understood that they were worried for his safety. He understood because they had every reason to be. Some of the damage Tasha had done to him was just now completely healed.

"I understand that Agent Barton," Fury persisted. "There is no discussion here. You will take Captain Rogers with you. He might not be quite as large an elephant as the others would be." Before Hawkeye had the chance to protest further, the Director of SHIELD nodded at the gathered Avengers and left the room.

"This sucks," Clint grunted as he stared at the map shifting over top of the table. It was a spying mission. Fury had information of a rebel group deep in the Amazon Basin that was threatening to join with international terrorist groups. It was one of the joys of the technical age. Terrorists found each other quickly on the internet or through common contacts. The amount of mayhem and damage the union of the two groups could create was astronomical. Clint was to go in to see if there really was a threat. It was a mission he'd done a dozen times, on his own.

"It could be worse," Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, stated from the other side of the table. "You could be dragging me through the jungle."

Not bothering to reply, Clint scanned the information one last time and then left the room. He had to pack. He and Captain America were heading out in two hours. Cursing under his breath, Clint tried to ignore the sound of Steve's boots following him. They wouldn't even let him walk around Avenger Tower without a damned escort. Fuck.

OOOOO

Clint was silent during the entire trip. He knew it wasn't Steve's fault that Fury shackled Hawkeye with him. It wasn't fair to punish the blond Avenger for something that he had no choice in. Still, Clint really needed some time alone. Not just in his quarters. Although, at this point that was the only place he was alone. As soon as he stepped out his door, someone, be it security (the ultimate slap in the face) or one of his team mates was there, waiting for him. Even the wilds of the Amazon Basin wouldn't be far enough from civilization and other people for the archer.

"Do you want to go over the mission one more time?" Steve asked from the seat across from Clint. He'd tried unsuccessfully to engage the man in conversation since they left New York. He knew the man was tired of being protected. The assassin was a loner. The only person Steve had seen him relate to was Natasha, the woman who'd tortured him for days.

"No," was Clint's laconic response. Outside the window of the plane Fury had chartered for them he watched the lush, green world of the Basin speed by. They were flying fairly low to avoid radar. Clint thought it was stupid. They weren't supposed to be coming anywhere near the rebels but with the kind of luck Clint has had of late he figured they were probably buzzing over them right now.

"Look," Steve said as he shifted closer to the blond archer. The man marginally tensed. He didn't like having people near him. The man's personal space was now huge. It had been big enough before Tasha, now Steve was lucky if he could stay in the same area code and not get the cold shoulder. "The better prepared we are the faster this will go."

"I'm prepared," Clint growled, refusing to look at the man. He could, however, see Steve's reflection in the window. Immediately he regretted his attitude. Steve was always nice, always ready to help, to listen. He didn't deserve to be treated like shit just because Clint was in a bad mood. "Sorry. Do you need to go over it?"

"No," Steve admitted. He too had memorized all the maps and the logistics. Apart from snakes or insects, they should be able to pull this off without a hitch. "We're almost there. Let's get ready."

OOOOO

On the ground Clint immediately felt his nerves going on edge. The landing strip was exactly where Fury had said it was. The plane landed, dumped them and their gear off and took off again. The two Avengers were left on the edge of the strip. Looking to the north all they saw was dense vegetation. The same was to the east, west and south. Clint didn't mind the vegetation. It was the feeling that someone was watching him that caused him to do a slow, careful evaluation of the world around him. He couldn't see anything.

"Are we ready?" Steve asked. The air strip was clear but as soon as its packed edge ended the vegetation was there, trying desperately to reclaim their territory. He'd shouldered his pack and was waiting for the archer to join him. He knew they were headed south west. While he waited for the other man to respond, Steve pulled his compass out and confirmed the direction.

Clint physically shook himself. If he couldn't see anyone then he was imagining things. "Sure. Let's go."

OOOOO

Two miles into the trek, Clint still felt like he was being watched. Again, though, he couldn't see or even hear anything. If someone were shadowing them he expected to see the birds or other animals react to their presence. So far, only he and Steve appeared to be struggling through the dense foliage. It was very hot and very humid. He knew there was a real risk of heat exhaustion but still, he was pressing as hard as he could. He wanted to have this done.

Behind him, Steve was having a hard time keeping up. His exceptional strength and skills allowed him to keep Clint in sight at all times but the archer seemed to almost float over the vines, roots and stalks that tried to catch Steve's feet. It took a lot of time for him to keep from falling on his face.

With each step Clint scanned the trees, the undergrowth, and the world in general, expecting to find that one shadow, that one movement that was out of place. He was still scanning, when there was a low popping sound. Instantly still, Clint frantically searched around him. A sharp pain in his neck was followed by another pop. As Clint fell nerveless to the ground, he saw that Steve was all ready on the ground, unconscious. Then darkness descended.

OOOOO

For the first time in at least a week the dreams were back. Clint was being tormented by the sound of Tasha's laughter. Cold hard fingers were touching him in places he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be touched again. Desperately he fought the grasping hands but he was restrained by heavy metal shackles. Then he was being entered, brutally, forcefully. The pain was beyond anything he'd been through before.

Coming awake with a start, the archer blinked his eyes rapidly to adjust them to the dim light he found himself in. It did little to help him. The cold, damp room he was in had earthen floors and walls. It was an all too familiar location for the assassin. He was in a cell. He was propped against a wall, his arms pulled up over his head with heavy metal shackles. Then Clint realized that he was naked.

"Welcome home, Clint." The voice was all too familiar as was the gentle laughter that followed. It was Natasha Romanoff, somewhere above him. Clint's heart turned to ice. No, not again his mind screamed.

_Yeah, I know. Clint wouldn't be captured this easily. But, I couldn't come up with a plausible story where he would be. Please forgive my poetic license. ;)_

_My next chapter will be out probably after the weekend. I have a huge family deal going on. Somehow writing this while sitting around with my great nieces, senior citizen aunts, and uncles really doesn't seem quite right. But...we'll see what happens._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello! Thank you ever so much for the wonderful reviews! You totally rock! Thank you also to those of you who have added this story to your favourites and your alerts. It makes me smile to know that people are waiting for me to upload the next chapter. _

_Life has gotten in my way, keeping me from writing. As well, I've struggled a little about what direction I wanted this to take. Then I gave up and let my mind wander. This is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it. _

_WARNING: sexual abuse ahead. Be prepared. Oh, and a few words of foul language._

Chapter Two

"Hello, Clint," Tasha purred as she moved towards the shackled archer. It was her idea to strip the man right off. She knew how much it would unnerve the assassin. The more unnerved he was, the more fun she'd have playing with him.

"Tasha?" Clint asked. He was still trying to figure out where she was in the dimly lit cell. For some reason his eyes weren't adjusting very well. Whatever drug they'd used on him was having lasting effects. Silently he cursed the woman. Even if they managed to get Tasha back to SHIELD and deprogram her, Clint wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look her in the face and not see her as she was now.

"Oh, you missed me. How sweet," Tasha said. Then Clint felt a hand on his chest. The body heat coming from the woman followed a split second later. "That's good because I've missed you."

The hand was slowly making circles over Clint's cool skin. Tasha's touch felt like fire that burned him to the soul. Clint stifled the whimpers and protestations that were trying to slip from his clenched jaws. The hand ran from his chest down to his stomach. Clint closed his eyes and turned his head away. He couldn't move away from her touch, the shackles were too tight and held him in place. Still, he pulled on them and tried desperately to get away.

"Leave him alone!" The words froze Clint in place. Steve could see what Tasha was doing to him. Things just went from bad to absolutely terrible. Bile rose in Clint's throat as he turned his face away from the direction of the voice. "Tasha. He's your partner."

"Hello Rogers. I almost forgot that you were here," Tasha said amiably. Clint felt her fingers still on his skin. She'd gone past his stomach and was travelling to the world below. His wrists all ready bleeding from how much struggling he'd done, yet Clint continued to fight the shackles. He wasn't going to let her do this to him this time. Not while Steve had a front row seat to the whole thing. Bringing his right leg up, Clint caught Tasha in the chest and sent her crashing backward.

"Now, that wasn't very nice," Tasha said as she stood up and dusted her clothes off. Clint's eyes were open. He wasn't going to try to hide from this. He was going to fight Tasha and Cave with every ounce of energy he had. In his unfocused world, Clint could still make out Steve three yards away, similarly shackled to the wall with the exception that he still had his clothes on. That fact freaked Clint out but he squashed that emotion and continued to glare at Black Widow.

Smiling sweetly at Clint, Tasha padded over to where Steve was sitting, shackled to the wall. The Avenger was glaring daggers at the assassin as she drew a few feet closer. "We can't have Clint thinking he can get away with that, can we?" Tasha asked as she looked down at the blond man. She had never really given the 'old man' much consideration while she was at SHIELD. He was too old fashioned, too goody goody for her tastes. She found the man boring.

Now, though, she found the man to be infinitely fascinating. He really was quite handsome. That alone held her attention. The fact that Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, was at her mercy increased his entertainment value several times over. Smiling sweetly at the man, Tasha reached down and began to run her fingers over Steve's chest. The blond man simply stared at her, not fighting at all as she reached half way down. Still grinning, Tasha stopped. She reached behind her back and brought a short knife out and played it across Steve's chest.

The blade was razor sharp and bit into Steve's chest through the fabric of his clothes. She didn't press on it hard, just enough to break the skin and cause a rivlet of blood to start running over his skin. The Avenger only hissed slightly but otherwise showed no sign of discomfort. Instead, he stared at Tasha, hoping to see any sign of the woman he knew. He was disappointed.

"Leave him alone," Clint grated. He still wasn't seeing particularly well but he'd heard the sound of Steve in pain. Damn it, Tasha wasn't going to ever turn back to his partner. Clint's sense of loss only increased.

"Well, Clint, in order for me to do that I'll have to find someone else to occupy myself with," Tasha said. Smiling brightly at Steve, she stood up and wandered back over to Clint. She stood over top of the assassin's legs and plopped herself down before he could pull them out of the way. Expertly, she trapped the man's legs, making it impossible for him to kick her again.

"Get off me," Clint said through clenched teeth. He strained against the shackles that were all ready slick with his blood but they refused to give. Across his thighs, Clint could feel that Tasha wasn't wearing any underwear. That unnerved him. He could feel her vaginal juices slowly seeping onto his skin. The sensation made his skin crawl. Straining the muscles in his legs, Clint tried to dump the woman onto her ass. Instead, she laughed, leaned forward and planted a kiss on his neck. The skin crawling feeling got significantly worse.

"You taste so good," Tasha murmured. She ran her tongue down the curve of his neck to the ridge of his shoulder. Clint tried to dislodge her with a quick shrug. Growling, Tasha sank her teeth into the tight muscle. Clint grunted as he tried again to dislodge the woman. She simply bit deeper until blood began to run down from her mouth. The grunt turned to a low moan as the blond haired assassin turned his face away from his ex partner.

"Mmmmm," Tasha breathed as she licked the blood off Clint's skin. Bile rose in the man's throat. He continued to struggle but it was worse than a wasted effort. The blood coming from his wrists was only increasing. If he wasn't careful he was going to risk bleeding out. His eyes tightly closed, Clint suddenly stopped moving.

"That's better," Tasha said as she moved so she was facing her partner. The maniacal smile on her face and in her eyes chilled Clint's blood. She really was unhinged. Swallowing thickly, Clint simply stared at her. Beyond Tasha's left shoulder Clint could see Steve now straining against his shackles. Tasha knew them too well. The shackles holding the captain were thicker and stronger than Clint's, strong enough to hold Captain America at bay. Clint turned his attention back to the woman on his lap just in time for her to lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips.

The kiss was bruising, violent, and completely one sided. Clint pulled his head back, away from her mouth and hit the wall behind him. The earth was packed down but not particularly hard so he didn't actually hurt himself but the break in contact pissed Tasha off. Growling under her breath, Tasha shifted back slightly, her hands diving down between Clint's legs.

"Don't," Clint pleaded before he could stop it. Grinning again, Tasha caught hold of his genitals in both hands. She began to manipulate them, to squeeze them in an attempt to make the man hard. Nothing worked. Any sense of pleasure Clint had ever felt at the woman's touch was long gone. She became more persistent, more brutal with her ministrations causing Clint to grunt at the violence and pain she was causing. Still, there was no response in Clint's groin.

Frustrated, Tasha shifted again, slipping one hand deep between Clint's legs while the other massaged and pulled the man's member. Clint moved his hips now that they were no longer trapped under the woman's weight but she ignored his efforts to dislodge her. The hand below slipped between Clint's buttocks, seeking the entrance there. Hissing, Clint tried harder to upend the woman before she found what she sought. He was unsuccessful as he felt the woman's long nailed finger force its way into his body.

Automatically Clint's body stiffened at the pain and intrusion. It was even more uncomfortable than it had been with the sex toy because of his position and the woman's nail pressing against delicate skin. His head back, Clint began struggling again, his wrists screaming in agony while he pulled helplessly against them. Chuckling, Tasha shifted again, forcing a second finger into Clint's body. The man's muscles tensed further until he was nearly as tight at the bows he loved to use.

"Tasha! Stop it!" Steve ordered from his position. He couldn't quite see what the woman was doing. All he saw was her back and Clint's face. It was enough, however, for him to figure out what was going on. The thought stilled his heart and caused his blood to run cold. The captain's own wrists were beginning to bleed while he struggled to reach his friend.

"Oh, but I'm just getting started," Tasha purred. A third finger tried to join the first two. Clint grunted as he shifted away from her as far as he could but the fingers were still there, probing into his body. The delicate skin of his rectum was beginning to split under the onslaught. The grunts were beginning to change, to lower in pitch and become moans.

The sounds Clint was making were being joined by low moans Tasha was emitting. She was becoming even more aroused as she felt the agony she was causing in her partner's body. She felt the vibrations beginning in her own groin. Moaning louder, Tasha forced the third finger inside Clint. The man's body tensed harder while a stifled groan slid between his teeth. She'd found his prostate. Bumping it repeatedly, she felt the archer shudder. Then, joy of joys, his penis began to get hard. Sighing, Tasha tried to move, to force the man inside her so she could finish what she'd started so long ago.

"No, Tasha! Please!" Clint groaned. His body was betraying him. There was nothing he could do as his partner continued on her single minded path. The sensations from his rectum were blinding in their intensity, the pain intermingled with the pleasure of her manipulating his prostate. Tears began to leak out of the corners of his eyes while he rode the waves passing through him. His penis was becoming larger, tighter the longer she kept at him. He knew a climax wasn't far away. The mere thought was enough to make him was to disappear, to die, to simply stop existing. He didn't want this. He desperately didn't want this!

Tasha was moving rhythmically, grunting and groaning as she too was reaching her climax, her body felt so alive! She was wild with desire, completely unaware of Steve's presence despite his continued protestations. All she knew was the radiations of pleasure running through her body and Clint's tight ass as she thrust her fingers inside him again and again.

"Agent Romanoff," a male voice spoke from the door to the cell. The spell was instantly broken. Breathing heavily, growling like a wild animal, Tasha pulled her fingers out of Clint with no concern for damage she might do, stood up and strode the distance to the man standing there.

"What the fuck do you want?" Tasha demanded, breathing hard while she tried to come down off her sexual high. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She desperately wanted to rip the man apart for disturbing her. If he wasn't Gordon Cave's number one man she would have. "I said I wasn't to be disturbed."

"Mr. Cave would like to see Agent Barton," the man stated, not at all perturbed by the woman's fury. "Now."

"God!" Tasha huffed. "Fine. Do what you want with him."

Without looking at the two Avengers, Tasha tossed her hair and left the room. Clint panted, trying to get control over his mind and body again. His eyes closed, he struggled. His body no longer felt like it was his own. Tasha had laid too strong a claim over it. His rectum was sending sharp, random stabs of pain through him that were working against his efforts of control. As a result, he was completely unprepared for the touch of the man who'd stopped Tasha in her tracks.

"You will behave, Agent Barton," the man was saying while he released Clint's shackle on his right wrist and then his left. Unprepared, Clint wasn't able to catch himself before he wound up lying on his side in the dirt, his back pressed up against the wall. "If you don't, your friend, Captain America, will pay the price."

"Leave him alone," Steve growled as he pulled on his shackles for the thousandth time. He hated feeling this helpless. It was an all too familiar emotion for the former 90 lb weakling. Forcing the resulting memories away, Steve concentrated on Clint. The archer was eyeing his rescuer with obvious distrust. As if to prove the point, he tried to knock the man's legs out from under him. The man simply hopped casually over the archer's leg as it passed and then brought a foot down on his exposed side, once, twice, three times.

Clint grunted at the air was forced out of his lungs by the assault while two or three ribs groaned in protest. Gasping, the archer barely had a chance to recover before he felt material being forced over his ankles and then being pulled up his legs. The relief at being clothed was only momentary as the man pulled Clint up onto his feet.

The man was joined by four guards. Two of them took hold of Clint, suspending him between them while he adjusted to his upright position, still struggling to pull a full breath into his lungs. The other two took up positions on either side of Steve, guns at the ready. They were careful to keep enough distance from the Avenger so he couldn't attack them but they were close enough to mete out justice as they were instructed.

"Now, Agent Barton. It's time for you to meet Gordon Cave." Effortlessly, the two guards pulled Clint out of the room. Just as he cleared the door, the archer threw a glance over his shoulder at Steve. He had the feeling he might never see the man again. Then the door was shut and he was being dragged down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello. Only one review for the last chapter? I must have shocked all of you pretty badly. *grin* This next chapter isn't going to improve in that department I'm afraid. I came up with part of this from watching 'Midnight Express' years ago. I have to give them credit where credit is due. The rest of it, however, is all me. I come by my name honestly. _

_Thank you to Sinkme for taking the time to review. I know not all of this is your cup of tea but I value your insights. They keep me honest. Thank you to all the people who have added this story to your alerts and favourites. I must be doing something right._

_WARNING: physical and sexual abuse ahead. _

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Three

Out in the hallway, Cave's man punched Clint in the side to incapacitate him. Satisfied that the archer wasn't going to be a problem for the moment, he ran some kind of a detector over every inch of Clint's body. The former assassin was struggling desperately to get a hold of himself. He wasn't succeeding very well. The world was tilting crazily around Clint while the pain kept him disconnected from everything. The additional blow increased the nausea he'd been fighting for a while but so far he wasn't ready to throw up. Still, he was having trouble tracking what was going on around him.

"Ah, there it is," the man said as he concentrated the device over Clint's left inner bicep. The guards moved him like a life sized doll, following Cave's man's directions. At the moment one man was bearing Clint's weight while the other held his left arm out so the device could be run along his side and under arm. "Hold him still."

Clint was only vaguely aware of a sharp pain in his arm. More blood came out as the man groped around under the skin. Just as a low moan registered from Clint, the man pulled the tracking device out, dropped it on the floor and ground it under his heel.

"Let's go," he said. "Mr. Cave is waiting for him."

The guards had a hard time keeping hold of Clint's arms because they were slick with his blood, even more so now with the fresh wound bleeding freely. This worked to Clint's advantage as he slipped out of one man's hands and kicked the other in the back of the knee, sending him crashing to the floor. The second guard recovered quickly and brought a round house blow down onto the top of Clint's head. The archer crumpled to the ground as darkness enfolded him.

OOOOO

Clint knew there was something wrong the moment he came awake. He wasn't processing things very well from the crack on the skull. On top of that there was the shock of being taken prisoner by Natasha again. Combined, Clint was more rattled than he'd ever thought possible. The roaring of blood in his ears was the first indication that things weren't as they should be. Forcing his eyes open, Clint figured out what was bothering him. He was suspended upside down by ropes around his ankles.

Thankfully he still had on the scrub bottoms the man had given him but his back and feet were bare. Looking at the world the wrong way around, Clint found that seated in front of him was Gordon Cave.

The man hadn't aged well in the last six years. His skin was sallow and his forehead was longer as his brown hair receded toward the top of his head. He was chunkier than Clint remembered but mostly around the waist. His blue eyes were still so pale that they almost appeared white. Having those near white orbs turned towards him when he couldn't do anything to protect himself was particularly unnerving.

"Hello, Agent Barton," Gordon said, his voice quiet as it always was. Yet, the sound contained a strength and level of menace that sent chills down Clint's spine. The archer's hands were tied in front of him and attached to the rope around his feet. The rope was short so his hands were about waist height. If he was wearing his own clothes there were any number of ways the assassin could get free. At the moment though, he was at a loss. Unconsciously he was pulling on the ropes around his ankles and wrists, hoping against hope that they might give a little. They didn't.

"Cave," Clint said. It was the only response he felt like coming up with.

"How's it hanging?" the man asked. Laughing, he waited for the blond Avenger to respond. Getting no response, he sobered up quickly. "I've gone through a great deal of time and expense to get you here. If you think I'm going to allow you to die quickly, you are sadly mistaken. First of all, though, we must ensure that you don't try to escape. I was very happy to catch two of you. It means I can use your companion to ensure good behaviour on your part. However, I'm not naive enough to think that the two of you wouldn't escape at the first opportunity. John, here, is going to make sure any escape will be difficult."

The man who had escorted Clint and the guards came into view. He was tall, maybe six foot, three inches, had a high forehead and a carefully coiffed head of light brown hair. He had bright blue eyes that watched the Avenger with disinterest. He was wearing some kind of uniform that was impeccably washed and ironed. Under the freshly laundered material, Clint could tell that John took good care of his body. Out of all the people here this man was the one to watch.

"Go ahead, John," Gordon Cave said. He grinned evilly as his next in command moved within striking distance of the hanging Clint. He brought out a thick leather strap from behind his back. Clint almost laughed. He'd survived worse than that while he was a child. Being beaten with the strap held no fear for the Avenger.

Watching John as he got into position, Clint braced his mind and body for what was to come. John brought the strap up above his shoulder in preparation of striking Clint. The blond Avenger didn't flinch, even when the strap made resounding contact with the bottoms of his feet.

By the seventh blow, the pain was beyond imagining. It was a hundred times worse than anything Tasha had done to him, anything he'd survived during his childhood. By the fifteenth blow, Clint was barely conscious. He was unaware of the grunts and pained gasps that erupted with each blow that followed. After twenty blows delivered with as much force as John could manage, all to the soles of Clint's feet, the man stood back. Sweating and breathing hard, John turned to look at Gordon Cave.

The man's face was a mask of joy, malice and something far more dangerous as he watched Clint's unconscious body continue to twitch uncontrollably at the end of the rope. Clint's feet were all ready swelled to nearly twice their normal size and had multiple abrasions and cuts that were bleeding freely. It was a very effective way to keep the man off his feet. With the amount of damage John had just done, the archer would be lucky to walk within the next two months. Gordon's plans for the man, however, didn't extend that far into the future.

"Are you sure?" John asked. He turned to face Gordon. The man's face had twisted further into an unrecognizable mask. He'd worked for Cave for the last four years. The man was an arms dealer and so was capable of great violence but never had John seen so much of it directed at a single individual before. Breaking Tasha's mind had just been the beginning. Making her hate her partner as much as Cave did was a stroke of genius. And yet, John still didn't understand the depth of emotion attached to the man suspended three feet in front of him.

"Wake him up first," Cave instructed. He savoured each and every noise the assassin made, each grimace and expression of fear and pain that crossed the man's handsome face. He couldn't get enough of it. His only disappointment was that Clint had passed out so soon. They were going to have to make sure that didn't happen in the future.

Sighing inwardly, John paced over to a pail of water he'd set up for this task. Hefting it, he carried it over to Clint. A few feet away from the man, John put the bucket down. Moving to where the rope was attached to the wall, John released it, allowing Clint to fall to the floor in a heap. Extracting the rope from Clint's feet, John secured it to the man's wrists before heaving on the rope and pulling him upright again. He made sure that Clint had just enough slack that his feet were brushing the ground. Cave wanted him to suffer. That was something John excelled at doing.

The water brought Clint around with a shock. Spitting water out of his mouth and nose to keep from drowning, the archer blinked water out of his eyes. The world was the right way up. That was a step in the right direction. The agony of his feet, however, was a definite step backwards, maybe several. Hissing through clenched teeth, Clint glared at the man sitting in the chair.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Cave said, a scary grin spread across his broad face. He nodded at John, eager for the man to begin the next phase of Clint's torture. The tall man moved over to a table along the left wall. From his position suspended from the ceiling Clint couldn't see what was on the table but he had a pretty good idea. All torturers used pretty much the same things. He didn't need to see to know what was coming.

Panting against the pain radiating up through the soles of his feet, Clint swallowed thickly, trying to swallow the bile that threatened to erupt. The slightest bit of pressure on his feet sent a hurricane of pain all the way from his toes to the back of his skull. To alleviate some of the discomfort, such a mild word for what he was experiencing, Clint kept his knees bent, pulling his feet off the ground.

John moved behind Clint. The archer hadn't seen what he'd removed from the table. John had deliberately kept his body in Clint's line of sight. Hanging by his ravaged wrists, Clint simply stared at Cave, waiting for whatever the psychopath had in store for him. Behind him, he heard a familiar rasping sound. He couldn't quite place it, it had been such a long time ago, until the rasping turned to a high pitched whine as new pain exploded across his back. John had a whip.

"Do it again," Cave ordered. Clint hadn't reacted to the first lash. He hadn't made a sound or allowed his pain to register on his face. Well, any more than the pale and sweat slicked skin all ready did. The assassin had his mask on again. That wasn't what Cave wanted.

The whip struck again, from the top of Clint's left shoulder all the way down to just above his right hip. A hiss escaped, finally. Gordon licked his lips, waiting for more. A third and fourth blow landed with the same, muted response. Cave was getting frustrated. Nodding at John to continue, he turned his attention to one of the guards just inside the door. "Bring her in."

The whip cracked again. Pain exploded and expanded from his shoulder to his hip. John wasn't changing hands or direction, not yet any way. The blows were landing one on top of the other, ripping the skin covering Clint's back, in some places to the bone. With everything else that had been done to the archer, Clint barely even reacted. He simply hung from the ropes, concentrating on keeping his feet off the ground. That was the only pain that he had any control over.

"Yes, sir," a female voice asked. The speaker moved from behind Clint, around his left side and then in front of him. Natasha was dressed in thigh high black leather boots, a black leather miniskirt and black leather bustier. It was so unlike anything he'd seen his friend and partner wear that it temporarily shocked Clint. Her red hair was shorn within inches of her skull, a fact that Clint hadn't noticed in the dark of their cell. Moving over to Cave, Tasha lowered herself to a squatting position at the man's feet. Her legs were spread towards him while she looked up at him with absolute adoration in her bright eyes.

"I want our guest to have all the amenities, my dear," Cave stated. Nonchalantly, he slipped his right foot out of his shoe and extended it between Tasha's legs. The woman moaned, thrusting her pelvis closer so that Cave could do what he wanted to her. Clint wanted to gouge his eyes out and rip his ears off as Tasha moaned and groaned in pleasure while Cave pleasured her with his toes. Tasha's head was thrown back, her eyes closed tightly and her mouth open as she vibrated gently at the man's touch.

"Tasha," Clint said, bile threatening yet again. It was worse than anything the woman had done to him, having to watch while Cave defiled her. Ignoring his own pains, Clint dropped his feet to the ground and leaned towards the duo, his struggles to escape increasing mindlessly.

The humiliation and disgust playing over Clint's face at what was being done to his partner thrilled Cave to no end. Now that was more like it. Grinning, Cave savoured every muscle twitch, every shade of green the Avenger turned while he continued to abuse the woman with his foot. He had told Tasha that she was never allowed to wear underwear. That way he had access to her at any time, like now. Still staring at Clint, Cave dropped his foot, caught hold of Tasha and stood up, drawing the woman with him.

Grinning, Cave used one hand to undo his pants. He didn't lust after the woman at all, all he wanted was to degrade her as much as possible while Clint watched. With his other hand, Gordon pushed Tasha forward until her sex was open and ready for him. Timing it perfectly, he entered the woman just as John switched to his other hand, opening new gashes across Clint's back.

A scream of agony and disgust burst from Clint as he watched the vile man rape his partner. The whipping was forgotten while he struggled and strained to reach Tasha. No matter what she'd done to him, he knew now that she was being controlled. There was no way Tasha would have let Cave touch her, much less have sex with her if she were in her right mind. The realization rocked Clint's world. He hadn't really, truly believed it until now.

Tears of pain, sorrow and shame ran down Clint's cheeks as he continued to thrash and struggle against the ropes, words of hate spewing from his mouth. He wanted Cave dead worse than any person he'd even known before.

Finishing with Tasha, Cave gave one final, hard thrust as he came. His lust was sated by the expression of abject misery on Clint's face as Cave pushed Tasha down to the ground and stood straddling the woman's hips. "Now we're getting somewhere," Cave stated, a huge, satisfied smile on his sallow face.

"Fuck you," Clint spit. He was beyond reason, beyond being civilized or cultured. He was beyond anything Phil Coulson had tried to teach him. Roaring angrily, Clint threw himself against the ropes yet again, trying to reach the man's throat. Behind him, John had finished whipping him, having applied twenty lashes to each side of his body. In his rage, Clint was completely unaware.

"Maybe later," Cave said. "Right now I want to enjoy my victories while I have them."

"Why?" Clint demanded. He needed this to make sense. He needed this to have all been for a reason, not just Cave's obvious insanity.

"Why?" Cave parroted. He stepped over Tasha, who stayed where Cave had put her, and moved within two feet of Clint who fought so hard against his ropes. Reaching out he caught hold of the archer's face between both his hands. When he spoke wads of spit peppered Clint's face. "Because you blew up my home! Because you didn't make sure it was empty before you did! Because my wife and twin sons were still inside when you destroyed it!"

The ground moved under Clint's feet. What? What the hell was Cave saying? He'd killed three innocents? Memories of that night were hazy at best. He remembered the mission. He remembered blowing up the weapons cache, and by extension the house. He did not remember the details in between. Could they have really failed to clear the house of innocents before blowing it up? At the moment Clint didn't know.

The pain and nausea assailed him anew. While Clint tried to process what Cave had said and his own memories of the events, he stopped straining against the ropes. His feet were almost against the ground sending new flashes of pain through his nerve endings. Vomit erupted before Clint was even aware of it in his turmoil.

Laughing from the bottom of his stomach, Cave stepped back just in time. He watched as Clint threw up helplessly over and over again as his words sunk in. Kicking Tasha in the side, he motioned for the woman to stand up. She'd served his purpose, for now. He was going to let Tasha play with Clint some more but not right now.

"Wash him down," Cave ordered as he and Tasha stepped out of the way.

"Yes, sir," John said. Replacing the whip on the table, the man removed a smaller metal pail from it before turning back to the now slack Clint. The man hung broken in the ropes while bile dribbled from his chin. Almost regrettably, John moved behind Clint and then tossed the contents of the bucket over his back. Instantly Clint's muscles convulsed as the salt water struck his fresh wounds. A scream of pure torment was ripped from the archer as his body rode the waves and waves of pain. Finally his mind and body had had enough and Clint slumped unconscious into the ropes.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello. This story won't leave me alone. I guess that's a good thing. _

_Thank you Sinkme for taking the time to review. As always, I love hearing from you and I take what you say into account as I'm writing the next 's very hard and frustrating as hell to write in a vacuum. Readers must like what I'm doing because more add this story to their alerts and favourites with each chapter I post. I'm very happy to see that but I would really appreciate a little more input. _

_Anyway, enough complaining. This chapter is for those of us who love the comfort part of hurt/comfort as much as the hurt part. I hope you enjoy what I came up with today._

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Four

"Get him out of here," Cave barked. He had done all he felt like today. Now Clint was unconscious again and he didn't think splashing him with water would really accomplish anything. Besides, he was bored. Time to broker an arms deal. That always kept him entertained. Dismissing the archer, Cave headed for the door. He knew John would tend to the man.

"Yes, sir," John stated. The first thing he did was release the rope from the wall, allowing Clint to crash nervelessly to the ground. A low moan escaped when the archer hit the ground but otherwise there was no response. John bent down beside Clint and began to untie the ropes from his freely bleeding wrists.

Tasha walked by, glazing down at the archer as she made her way after Cave. She was little more than his lap dog. It was incredible to see given her first impression when they caught her she'd been a lethal, wild animal. Now she was little more than a domesticated cat. As she walked by Clint, John watched her closely. For the briefest second he thought he saw sympathy and shame. Then it was gone. Maybe Cave's treatment wasn't permanent. He was going to have to mention that to his boss the next time he saw him. Then she too was out the door, obediently following her master.

"Help me get him back to his cell," John said to the guards that were standing at the door. The man was slick with sweat and blood. There was no way John was going to allow any of that to touch his skin. Besides, that was what the guards were for in the first place, to do the grunt work. Stepping back, he allowed the guards to each grab an arm and bodily pull the man upright. He followed as the guards proceeded to drag the unconscious man out of the room, leaving a smudge of blood behind them.

OOOOO

Steve Rogers thought he was going to lose his mind. No amount of pulling, pushing, tugging or twisting on his shackles would budge them. His wrists were bloody from his attempts but he was no closer to getting free. The frustration this realization created wasn't something new. Steve had found multiple things frustrating while he grew up. Still, at the moment, this was the most angry he could ever remember being.

Then the door to the cell opened and the guards came in dragging Clint along between them. From the front the archer didn't appear to be too badly off. He was pale, sweaty and had a few bruises coming out on his torso and side but none of that explained why he was unconscious. "Clint?" Steve breathed instantly concerned.

"Leave him off the wall. He isn't going anywhere," John ordered from the door way. Shrugging, the guards simply let go and Clint hit the ground with a thud and a whoosh as the air was forced out of his lungs. The two guards left without a word. Steve was absolutely shocked when he saw the state of Clint's back. Now it was all starting to make sense.

John stepped out of the room for a few moments and then came back in, two buckets of water held in each hand. Under his right arm he had a large first aid kit. Placing them down on the floor, John stepped back, caught hold of Clint, dragged him closer to the blond Avenger and dumped him unceremoniously to the floor.

"Clean him up," John stated. With that, he turned and left the cell. From somewhere above Steve a light flickered on after John closed the door. What he saw made his stomach roll. They'd whipped the archer, creating deep furrows across his back in an 'X'. Bile rose as he strained to reach Clint's arms and pull him closer so he could get a better look. The light made seeing easier but it still wasn't particularly bright.

"Clint?" Steve said again, not really expecting a response. The damage done to the man's back was particularly brutal up close. Steve couldn't imagine what the archer would be feeling if he was awake.

Straining against his shackles, Steve tried to reach Clint but his arms would not lower any further than his shoulders. He needed to reach the archer. Tiny trails of blood were making their way from the slash marks down his sides and were gathering on the ground underneath him. Grunting in frustration, Steve placed a foot against the wall between the chains holding his shackles. Desperately he pulled on them. He stumbled as the chains abruptly released, allowing him to pull them far enough forward that he could reach Clint. Steve stood in shock for a split second before replacing his boot against the wall and trying to pull them out further, maybe all the way. But, they held resolutely in place. Quickly, Steve turned away from the wall to Clint's prostrate body.

Looking in the two buckets, Steve found that one held cool, clear water and the other was filled with warm soapy water. In the first aid kit he found several clean bandages, antibiotic ointment, sewing needle and thread as well as various other odds and ends. Scooping up one of the bandages, Steve submerged it into the bucket with the soapy water. Carefully he wrung it out before turning his attention to his unconscious friend.

Gently, Steve applied the soapy cloth to the furrows on Clint's left shoulder. The archer whimpered quietly on first contact. Then as the water soaked into the wound the whimper changed to a strangled scream as Clint flinched away from the captain's touch.

"Clint!" Steve tried to reassure the man as he pressed marginally harder. Something wasn't right. The soap spread through more of the wound. Clint's muscles tightened like a bow string. The screams were no longer strangled as the archer unconsciously clawed at the ground, trying to pull his battered body out of Steve's reach.

Abandoning the cloth back into the bucket, Steve caught hold of Clint's thigh before the archer could get away. Tenderly, the captain pulled Clint back towards him.

"Clint, you're okay. It's me, Steve Rogers," he said in an attempt to reassure the man. When he could, he carefully rolled Clint part way onto his right side so he could have a better look at his face. Blinking sweat and tears out of his eyes, it took Clint several heartbeats before he could make out anything around him. Until his blue eyes came to rest on the captain's face all he'd been aware of was the agony of his back and feet and the mental torture of watching Cave use Tasha's body.

Panting against the pain, Clint ran his dry tongue over his dry lips. He was so thirsty and all he could taste in his mouth was vomit. The pain in his body was ever present, battering against his other senses and dulling his mind to the point he could barely think. "Rogers?" Clint croaked. He didn't know if he could trust his eyes.

"Yes," Steve responded. He used one hand to keep Clint from falling on his face while the other pulled another bandage out of the kit, soaking it in the clean water bucket. "I'm here. What have they done to you?"

Clint's response was postponed when Steve placed the soaking wet cloth against Clint's lips. Sucking greedily at the moisture, Clint managed to take hold of the cloth from Steve and not shove it all into his mouth. The cool, fresh water felt like heaven as it leaked through his parched mouth and dry throat.

"Better?" Steve asked after the second time Clint sucked the bandage dry. Steve didn't want to risk giving the man any more. Clint nodded his head slightly and his eyes tried to slam shut. As gently as he could, Steve shook the archer awake. "What did they do?" He needed to know if he was going to treat Clint without hurting him worse than he all ready was.

Blinking sluggishly, Clint tried to process what Steve had asked. His mind and body were trying to shut down to protect him from the agony now that the risk of dehydration was substantially reduced. "S...salt...water," Clint finally stuttered. His stormy blue eyes slammed shut and the archer went slack in Steve's hands.

"What?" Steve asked. He laid Clint back on his stomach. Salt water? What did he mean by that? The two words didn't make any sense to him. Scanning Clint's ravaged back Steve noticed a white powdery substance dried on Clint's waist band of his pants. Under the substance the material was saturated with dried blood from the whip marks.

Grasping hold of Clint's nearest arm, Steve pulled the unconscious man closer to him so he could get a better look. Shock flashed through him when he immediately identified the salt crystals dried into Clint's pants. Why? The reason was obvious when he thought about it but Steve chose not to.

He had to get Clint's back clean fast. The salt would help prevent infection but it would also hurt like a son of a bitch. Retrieving the soapy cloth, Steve bent to his task and tried to ignore the moans and whimpers his actions provoked in the shorter man. It had to be done and it was better to do it now while he was comatose.

By the time Steve was midway down Clint's back the one bucket was no longer white with suds but reddish pink because of the amount of blood he'd cleaned off the archer's skin. Some of the wounds were minor while others brought bile to Steve's mouth. Sewing the worst ones was not an option. There was too much of a gap between the ragged folds of skin left behind. So the captain washed every inch of the whip marks, ignoring the feel of Clint's muscles twitching under his fingers, until he was satisfied he'd gotten as much of the salt out as he possibly could. Then he repeated the process with the clean water to make sure all of the soap and salt was washed out. That completed, Steve began applying the ointment.

In all Steve laboured for three hours. Just as he was finished the last millimetre of the last wound, Steve moved to sit back on his heels. While doing so he cast a casual glance over the rest of Clint's body. His heart stopped cold.

"Oh my God," Steve gasped as he saw the damage done to Clint's bare feet. All too able to imagine the pain Clint was in, Steve turned abruptly away and was violently ill as far away from the archer's body as his chains would let him.

"God, Clint," Steve breathed once he was done and had gotten control of his stomach again. Turning back to the archer, Steve ran a trembling hand over his mouth. Taking two deep, calming breaths, he tenderly took hold of Clint's right calf and brought his lower leg up so he could get a better view of the soles of his feet.

Steve was forced to swallow several times in a row as he examined the grossly swelled bottom of Clint's right foot and his toes. The cuts from the strap were oozing clear fluid and were spread apart because of the pressure under the skin.

Rage unlike anything Captain Rogers had ever felt before bubbled to the surface, trying to take over his mind and body. Desperately he wanted to rip his chains out of the wall and use them to attack and kill anyone who came near. Instead, though, he blew out a breath, retrieved the soapy cloth and began anew, this time on Clint's feet.

Any pressure at all on the archer's soles elicited a sharp response. Even unconscious he moaned loudly, his hands trying to knock Steve's grip aside and he tried to pull his leg away. In Clint's current condition, however, any movements he made were feeble and quite simply heart breaking to witness.

Steve paused in his ministrations long enough to place a cool, wet hand on the base of Clint's skull, his thumb rubbing across the archer's close cropped blond hair in an attempt to comfort him. Within minutes the moans abated and Clint seemed to have fallen deeper into unconsciousness.

Sighing heavily with relief and exhaustion, Steve turned his attention back to Clint's feet. He worked as fast as he could but it still took over an hour before he had them to a point where he was reasonably sure they were clean, covered in ointment, and wrapped loosely in clean, white bandages. Finally, Steve sat back off his knees and sat on his butt.

The water was no longer clean but Steve still needed to clean and wrap the archer's wrists. He should have done it earlier but the other wounds had seemed so much worse. Quickly, he did what he could, cleaning the rope marks, slathering on the antibiotic ointment and then wrapping them tightly with clean, white bandages.

"What do I do with you now?" Steve asked as he looked at the archer laid out on his stomach in front of him. He couldn't leave the archer there. He was the first thing anyone saw when they opened the cell door. Using some of the left over bandages, Steve made a pad for the one lash mark that almost extended along Clint's right side. On his left side five lashes had nearly wrapped all the way around to his front. Steve didn't want to risk laying him on those.

Using as much time and care as he needed, Steve rolled Clint up onto his right side, with the pad in place, and laid the side of Clint's head on his left thigh. He'd positioned the archer with his back towards the wall and as far away from the cell door as he could manage. Without thinking, Steve placed his left hand on the side of Clint's head and began to card his fingers through his hair. When he was young and ill, Steve's mother used to do the same thing and he'd found great comfort in it. He only hoped Clint would too.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello! Wow! I got a lot of reviews on the last chapter! Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I feel better about writing this knowing that others are enjoying it too. _

_Okay. This chapter is really freaking short. I'm very sorry. My muse isn't cooperating this week and neither is real life. I'll do better with the next one. Please be patient._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's slow but kind of necessary. Anyway, blame my muse. _

Chapter Five

Enfolded in the black velvet of his mind, Clint did not want to wake up. He knew all too well what was waiting for him in the conscious world, pain, humiliation and shame. He wasn't sure he had it in him to face it all again. Remembered pain from his back and feet was nearly debilitating in its intensity. Sighing heavily, Clint came back to the world.

"Aaaah," the archer moaned as the pain registered. His eyes were clamped tightly shut while he rode wave after wave of agony. Tears leaked out the corners while he waited for it to abate and his face was twisted into a permanent grimace.

"Clint?" Steve asked. He'd been dozing lightly. As much as he hated to admit it, Captain Steve Rogers was exhausted. Watching over the younger man was much more tiring than he'd ever imagined. He looked down at his charge's head, still resting on his lap. Clint's face was pale, coated with a layer of sweat and there were deep lines of pain around his mouth and eyes.

"Yeah," Clint grated when the pressure on his chest finally began to ease. It had felt like he was having a heart attack but the archer knew it for what it was. The human body was a funny thing, able to make receptors far from the site of injury register the pain. "I'm just ducky."

Steve snorted with laughter before he could stop it. It had been a stupid question but what else was he supposed to ask? Of course Clint would try to shrug off the torture he'd been through. The man was a trained assassin and SHIELD agent.

"Son of a bitch," Clint swore when he tried to shift a little to ease cramped muscles. It wasn't a good idea. The pain enfolded his entire body again, squeezing the breath out of him. Forcing his eyes open, Clint blinked several times to clear his vision enough to see Steve's worried face hovering over him.

"He raped Tasha," Clint breathed when he could finally speak. He shouldn't have said anything. Natasha, if she ever came back, wouldn't appreciate him telling her secrets. But, the image of Cave ramming himself into Tasha haunted him. The look of ecstasy on her face turned his stomach cold. It hurt almost as much as his physical wounds.

"God," Steve hissed. He knew how much that admission tore at the smaller man's soul. Despite everything Natasha Romanoff had done, she was still Hawkeye's partner and friend. The two assassins were so close that Steve had heard Tony wonder several times if the two of them were lovers. Steve didn't think so. Both of them were too professional to allow their personal feelings to interfere with their ability to do their jobs.

"Yeah," Clint said. Steeling himself, Clint tried to move again. With the first twitch of his muscles, the world turned red and then black as unconsciousness tried to take over. Several deep breaths later Clint managed to stay awake but he still needed to move. The muscle cramps were almost continuous now and were starting to break the surface of his wounds. The last thing he needed was to start bleeding again. He knew from how light headed he currently was that he'd lost quite a bit all ready.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked. He witnessed Clint trying to move without much success. If anything the archer was paler still and had slammed his eyes closed again. Bile kept trying to erupt from his stomach. Clint had to swallow several times to keep it down. He was all ready so vulnerable in front of 'Captain America', the last thing he wanted was for the man to have to clean up his vomit.

"Side hurts," Clint muttered. His eyes tightly shut. If he opened them the world seemed to sway drunkenly around him. That didn't help with the nausea from his wounds.

Gently, Steve slid his hands under Clint's shoulders until he was supporting his chest and his stomach. Then, he carefully rolled the blond archer from his side onto his stomach. A huge sigh of relief slipped through Clint's lips despite the grunts of pain the movement elicited. His back, thanks to the ointment Steve had slathered on, didn't open much with the new position but he still started to bleed a little.

"Thanks," Clint said. He was on his stomach with the soles of his feet up, his arms down by his sides but not touching the damaged skin, and his head turned to the side. While not one of his favourite positions to sleep in, especially on the hard packed dirt, it was comfortable enough that he immediately began to fall asleep. The pain was still severe but the need to escape it if only for a little while was overwhelming. Clint gave in.

"Damn it," Steve swore. What was he supposed to do now? The chances of him getting loose were nonexistent. The chances of Clint being able to move if he did get loose were also nonexistent. Steve's last hope was that the tracking device would lead the others to them. Unconsciously, the blond Avenger glanced down at Clint's arm, where he knew Fury had implanted the man with a tracker. His stomach dropped when he saw the clean line of open tissue where it was supposed to be. So much for that. Sighing heavily, Steve slumped back against the wall and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

OOOOO

"Son of a bitch," Tony swore. Angrily he pounded on the interface of his computer. He knew it. He knew it and Fury had done it anyway. Several new swear words burned through the dark haired Avenger's mind. Whenever he wasn't busy with a mission or doing work, Tony had been keeping track of Clint's location. He had been ever since the man and his shadow had stepped out of the Tower. When he was busy, he'd had Jarvis monitor the tracker.

Thus, Jarvis had noticed right away when the tracker had gone still. It was quite possible that Hawkeye was up in a tree somewhere watching his target. So, at first Tony wasn't too concerned when Jarvis informed him of the stationary location of Clint's tracker. Then, abruptly, it had simply disappeared. Tony had tried to let Nick Fury know about the loss of contact but he'd been only marginally interested. There were too many things going on and Clint's tracker had only been gone for an hour when he'd reported it.

Still, Tony had continued to scan the frequencies for the tracker. It was only by chance he found it again but only briefly. Just as Tony and Jarvis were narrowing down Clint's location the tracker had gone silent again. During the time he'd had to search, Tony had only been able to narrow the location to the Amazon Basin. That was a huge amount of land to cover. That had been half an hour ago.

"Fury! We need to talk," Tony barked into his communicator. "I think something's gone wrong with Hawkeye."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hello! Thank you to everyone who's added this story to their alerts and favourites. Thank you Sinkme for yet again taking the time to review. I love hearing from you! As both a reader and a writer I know all too well how hard it is to take the time to review while also knowing just how much it means to the writer. Thank you, thank you, thank you!_

_Okay. Tasha's back at it again in this chapter. So, there is SEXUAL ABUSE AHEAD! Please be forewarned. _

_I hope you enjoy the new chapter._

Chapter Six

They'd been left alone for a long time. Or at least that's how it seemed to Steve. His butt was sore from sitting but there really weren't that many other positions for the blond man given his current circumstances. So, every once in a while Captain America would shift from one side to the other in hopes of relieving some of the numbness.

Beside him Clint slept fitfully. His handsome face was drawn tightly in pain and he panted lightly through partly lips, creating little puffs of loose dirt every once in a while. The archer's skin was slick with sweat in a reaction to the damage done to his body and yet he'd started to shiver a while ago. Steve knew the younger man was verging on shock but other than trickling water in his mouth every once in a while there really wasn't much he could do about it.

Both to comfort the archer and to assure himself of the man's continued presence, Steve had his left hand resting on the back of Clint's head. When Clint began to thrash a little during a particularly vivid nightmare, Steve was able to calm him by rubbing small circles with his thumb. In the time they'd been left alone he'd had to repeat the process four times.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Steve began to drift into sleep. It had been thirty six hours since they'd returned Clint. He'd dozed on and off but not fallen into a healing sleep like he needed. If he was to keep his edge, to keep sharp, Steve was going to need at least three hours of down time. He knew he wasn't going to get it. Sighing, Steve shook himself, glanced down at Clint's restless form and sat back against the wall. He wasn't even aware of it when he fell asleep.

OOOOO

"Aw, that looks like it hurt." The feminine, sarcastic voice brought Steve around with a start. Blinking his eyes rapidly he quickly saw that Clint was no longer by his side. Tasha had pulled him unceremoniously over to the opposite wall. It was close enough that Steve could see everything she was doing but far enough away that he could do nothing about it. Growling angrily under his breath, Steve strained against his chains. Somehow while he was sleeping they'd tightened them again and he hadn't noticed. He'd been more tired than he'd ever suspected.

"Oh, hello, Steve. I'm glad you're back. Someone ought to be awake during this," Tasha purred from the other side of the room. At her feet, Clint was unconscious. She'd left him lying on his stomach. Clint's legs were at an awkward angle that suggested to Steve that she'd simply caught hold of his nearest leg and pulled. All ready, though, she'd removed his scrub pants. It appeared she liked him best nude.

"Tasha. Don't do this," Steve begged. He hated the weakness in his voice but he could see that glint in the woman's eyes. She was ready to hurt the archer, again. Steve wasn't sure he was ready to have to watch that again.

"Why?" Tasha asked, a large smile spread across her face. Staring at Steve, she knelt down beside Clint and ran a hand over his back. As soon as she touched him the archer's body stiffened and a low moan quickly turned to a much louder grunt. "He's so much more fun to play with this way."

"Don't touch him!" Steve ordered in a low voice without even realizing it. The words had played through his mind, he wasn't aware that he'd vocalized them.

"Oh, I'm going to touch him all right," Tasha responded. Watching Steve closely, Tasha knelt down on Clint's far side. The young archer was completely oblivious as he remained unconscious. Steve just hoped he'd stay that way. Suggestively, the red haired assassin slipped her right index finger into her mouth and licked it luxuriously. Pulling it out of her mouth, she smiled sweetly at Steve. Still smiling, Tasha leaned over Clint, separated his buttocks with her left hand and shoved her wet digit into his rectum.

Under her the blond archer grunted in response to the violation. His legs and arms began to shift around as he tried to pull himself off Tasha's finger despite being unconscious. Laughing lightly, Tasha revelled in the sensation of the archer's body reacting to her touch while watching Steve desperately trying to break out of his chains. It amused the hell out of her.

"Leave him alone!" Steve growled. His wrists were bleeding again but he didn't notice. He just wanted this to stop. Clint had been through enough all ready.

"Now, Steve, we both know that isn't going to happen," Tasha responded. Still grinning, she forced her finger from the first knuckle to the second one into Clint's body. Instinctively, the blond assassin reached for Tasha's hand, to dislodge the finger. Laughing again, Tasha slapped Clint's back, hard. Clint's entire body went completely rigid as the pain exploded and spread through. His breathing became more ragged and rapid while he rode the waves of agony.

"Aw, he has a boo boo," Tasha said like she was talking to a baby. Chuckling at her own joke, Tasha forced her finger the rest of the way into Clint's body. With a little luck, she found his prostate. Perfect. Pulling her index finger most of the way out, she added her ring finger before thrusting them back inside Clint. The archer was just coming off of the pain from his back, now it was being replaced by the pain in his rectum. Grunting, he tried to pull away but he had nowhere to go. Slowly, though, he was being forced back to the conscious world.

"Tasha, please," Steve said. He was as far forward as the chains would let him but there was still too much distance. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want Tasha to be doing this. The Avenger felt like he was trapped in a really bad dream and he couldn't wake up. "He's your partner."

Tasha ignored the older man until he said the word 'partner'. She abruptly became very still, her fingers now buried almost all the way into Clint's body. For a split second Steve thought he might have reached her but then the smile returned to her face when she looked up at him, all the while pushing her fingers all the way in. A low moan was followed by a lower whimper as Clint struggled to get away.

"Yes, he is," Tasha responded. Using her two fingers she massaged the man's prostate. It had worked before to arouse him. She was hoping with a more direct assault that it would work again. Laboriously, she continued to stimulate Clint in an effort to make him hard. She hadn't finished the last time they were together and she planned on going all the way this time.

"Aaahh," Clint moaned as he finally came around. In a split second he knew he was naked and that there was something inside him that shouldn't be there. He also knew that the sensations that were flowing through his groin were causing him to become erect. No, not again. Sliding his arms under his torso, ignoring the cracking wounds, blood and pain that instantly emerged, Clint tried to force his body up. He wasn't going to let this happen. Not again. Within six inches of the ground his arms started to tremble.

"Good morning," Tasha said, her voice unusually bright as she dug a little farther into her friend's body. Her left hand slid underneath Clint to grasp his semi-rigid member. She moaned softly when she felt the soft skin beginning to stretch and harden under her fingers. "Damn but you're good."

"Tasha, no," Clint panted. He was all ready becoming too weak to hold himself up. The pain flashing through his back and butt were zapping his strength even faster. Unable to hold it any longer, Clint collapsed back onto the ground. All he'd managed to do was give Tasha a better grip on him. His arms still trembling with fatigue, Clint tried to pry her offending hand off of his body. Instead, the woman tightened her grip and began to stroke him.

"This is going to be fun," Tasha purred. Clint was hard enough. Slipping her fingers out of his rectum, she squirmed her way under his body, situating her naked crotch just right. Clint struggled weakly against her, trying to get off of her but all she had to do was wrap her legs around his back and he went rigid again as her skin made contact with his wounds. "Cowboy up, Barton."

"Tasha, please," Clint moaned. The pain was nearly overwhelming as he struggled to get off of his partner. This was just so very wrong. He couldn't get any purchase with his feet that didn't compound the problem of pain. His knees were all ready starting to shake as Tasha used her legs to pull Clint down on her, one hand carefully directing his still nearly rigid member into her body. As he entered, Clint felt bile rising in his throat yet again, while Tasha went completely still under him and heaved a great sigh of ecstasy.

"That's so much better," Tasha said. She waited for Clint to do what came naturally but all he kept doing was trying to pry his body off of her. Frustrated and too far gone to let this stop again, Tasha tightened her legs across his back. Instantly Clint moved forward to get away from the pressure. Instead of seeing Tasha's lust filled face, his world was going from red to black as the pain reached a crescendo.

Inadvertently, while trying to relieve some of the pressure, Clint drove himself further into Tasha's body. It had the desired effect for the woman. Grunting in lust and effort, Tasha continued to use her legs to force Clint to pound into her. She'd release some of the pressure so he could back off only to tighten again when she wanted him back inside her. The sensation was better than she'd imagined. The whimpers, moans and groans her partner was making during the efforts only made it that much sweeter.

For his part, Clint had retreated to the far corners of his mind. The pain wouldn't let him do anything other than what he was. His mind rebelled viciously at what was being done to his body. Bile kept trying to erupt but Clint couldn't let it. He knew throwing up on Tasha would only throw her into a rage and she would do even more damage to him.

Across the room Steve turned his head away. He desperately wished he could muffle the sounds as well but he couldn't. He could hear Tasha's rapid panting as she came close to climaxing. He could also hear the sounds of pain and shame coming from Clint as he was forced to do what Tasha wanted. God Steve wished the others were here. He wasn't sure how much more of this Clint was going to be able to take. He wasn't sure how much more of this he was going to be able to witness.

Tasha was nearly there. So close. So very close. Licking her lips, Tasha increased Clint's pace as she grew closer to climax. Above her she heard Clint panting like a locomotive and she could feel his arms shaking so much she was amazed he was able to stay upright. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was his now rigid member pounding into her again and again. Her moans of pleasure were rapidly increasing to a scream as the first tremors of her orgasm spread through her body.

Clasping her legs tighter as the physical response took over, Tasha was completely oblivious to the moans and whimpers that Clint made while he struggled ineffectually to get away. It felt like his back was on fire and the skin was being peeled off a layer at a time while Tasha's legs clamped even tighter, trying to make Clint climax as well. It wasn't going to happen. Clint was too exhausted and in such severe agony that it was a physical impossibility. The tighter Tasha's legs got, the softer Clint's member became as the pain over ran all other concerns.

"I want you to come inside of me, you bastard," Tasha grated when she'd recovered. She could tell that the archer was losing his erection. That pissed her off. Reaching around Clint's hip, she tried to force a finger into his rectum again. It had worked to stimulate him earlier, it should still work now. Grunting, Clint pulled away from Tasha's body. Using every last reserve of strength he had, he back pedalled until he was sitting in the corner of the room, his back towards the wall and his feet tucked as close under his legs as he could stand. It was absolute agony but he wasn't going to do it. She could kill him trying but he wasn't going to let that happen. There was no way in hell that he was going to create the possibility of Tasha becoming pregnant with his child.

"Go...to...hell," Clint panted. The world was rapidly disappearing around him. As Clint lost strength in his muscles, his back pressed up against the wall. New pain erupted and he passed out, slowly sliding down the right hand wall, coming to rest on his stomach and face.

"Shit," Tasha swore, wiping sweat off her face. She wasn't satisfied yet. Once just wasn't enough given her current state of arousal. Sighing, Tasha looked around until her eyes fell on Steve. Tasha allowed an eyebrow to quirk up high on her forehead while she decided if Steve would be an appropriate substitute for Clint.

"No, Tasha. That isn't going to happen," Steve said, reading her mind without any effort. Unconsciously, she had a hand under her skirt, fingering her unsatisfied hole. A slow, sexy smile began to creep across her no longer beautiful face. The lust and madness Steve saw in the woman's eyes had rendered her ugly beyond her physical appearance. Glancing over at the unconscious Clint, the image was only intensified.

"You'll do whatever I want, Captain America," Tasha said as she strolled towards the chained man.

"No, Natasha, I won't," Steve responded. The closer the woman got, the more Steve's skin crawled. This wasn't how he was going to have his first time with a woman. He'd never told any of the other Avengers that he was a virgin. It wasn't their business. But, being from the forties, the chances just weren't there unless he went to a whore house. That wasn't something he'd ever considered. Now that he was in this century, the idea of sharing such a beautiful experience with any of the women he'd met was abhorrent to him.

Tasha stopped to consider the adamant look on the Avenger's face. He was stronger than her. If she unchained him she had no doubt he'd overpower her. Just as she was about to make her move, the door to the cell opened and John stood there, looking at her with disapproval.

"Mr. Cave would like to see Mr. Barton," John stated. He glanced over at the unconscious man on the ground a few feet away. Sighing, he shook his head slightly before turning his attention back to the panting, dishevelled woman in front of him. "Now."

"What?" Tasha growled. She was never going to get a break with this guy. Casting a last, longing glance at Steve, Tasha paused long enough to adjust her clothes before she stepped out of the room. Despite her best efforts, she wasn't able to keep from stopping suddenly when she saw Cave standing outside the room. That was the last place she'd expected to see him. She'd automatically assumed John was there to take Clint to him, not the other way around. Stopping her head long march, Tasha stepped to the side and allowed Cave to pass.

Back in the room, John ignored Steve's protests as he moved towards Clint's unconscious body. Grimacing in disgust, John bent over Clint, caught hold of his nearest arm and pulled him back to his original wall. Ignoring the shackles lower on the wall, John pulled Clint up, ignoring the loud moan that erupted from the man's mouth, and wrapped a shackle around his arm. The metal restraint was farther up the wall, forcing Clint into a standing position. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the Avenger started awake, gasping at the pain. His breath hitched several times while he tried to keep from vomiting. Then John shackled his other wrist. He stepped back in time to avoid the thin stream of bile that erupted from Clint's mouth.

The last thing John did before stepping back from Clint was to pull a pair of scrub pants over his legs. The reprieve for his feet was enough for Clint to come around a little bit. Up to this point, he'd been only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. The pain, the assaults on his mind and body were distracting him, making it exceptionally difficult for the assassin to rely on his senses as he was used to doing. At this point he was barely able to open his eyes as the world around him strobed from red to black and spun like he was on a merry go round.

"Mr. Barton, Mr. Cave would like to see you now," John said as he stepped back, allowing access for his boss to the hanging assassin.

Clint didn't even react to the words. They had come to him garbled and at such a distance that they didn't really make any sense at all. All he was aware of was the agony his body was going through as his back was stretched, breaking open more wounds, and his feet wobbled on the ground. The bile kept running out of his mouth as his body reacted and revolted against what had happened to him. In the brief time he'd been upright, Clint's body was all ready shaking with fatigue.

"Well now, Clint," Gordon said as he entered the room. He had a hand up under his nose to combat the smell of the two men confined here for so long. The tangy, metallic scent of blood was mingled with other bodily fluids. Cave didn't bother to try to identify them. Knowing Tasha's new propensity for sex, he all ready had it pretty much figured out.

Seeing Clint hanging from the chains in such obvious torment warmed the arms dealer's heart. Smiling happily, he reached out with his free hand and lifted Clint's limp head up so he could see his face better. A few drops of bile rested on his bottom lip while the assassin blinked slowly at the man in front of him. Cave knew the man wasn't seeing him. That was fine by him. The man had served his purpose. Gordon had gotten to see that exquisite expression of complete hopelessness on the handsome man's face. That was ALMOST as good as watching the man die a slow, very painful death.

"I think you're about ready," Cave said, dropping Clint's head back down to his chest. Still smiling, he turned to John. The man was standing near the door, prepared for anything. He kept a careful watch over the assassin and Captain America. There was no way he was going to allow either man to injury his boss.

"John, tell the guards they can have him. Any way they want him. I want Hawkeye to stay alive as long as possible though, so John, fix him up, get him fed and get him ready to have his brains fucked out," Cave said, a huge, self satisfied grin on his face. With a final glance at the man he'd broken, Cave left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"What does he mean?" Steve demanded. His wrists were mince meat from straining against the shackles but still he continued. The condition of his friend was appalling. In the few minutes Tasha had been there she'd done more to him than all Cave's whips and bats combined. Steve wished desperately that the other Avengers would find them, very soon.

The instructions his boss had left him still fresh in his mind, John sighed heavily before leaving the room without answering Steve's question. A moment later he returned with more buckets of water and a large first aid kit tucked under his arm.

"What does he mean?" Steve persisted.

"Some of our men have twisted preferences when it comes to sex. Some of them will be thrilled to do what they want with a man of Mr. Barton's appearance. You can draw your own conclusions from that," John responded.

"Let him down," Steve ordered. Clint was unconscious. His body continued to tremble and the muscles in his back would randomly spasm. Even though he couldn't really see Clint's face he knew the man was grimacing and panting. As he watched more bile dribbled from Clint's mouth right after his stomach heaved. God Steve wished he could do something.

"Nope, sorry, not going to happen," John replied. He stood in front of Clint, a few feet away to keep from stepping in the vomit, deciding where to start. There were so many places that needed attention. Grunting, he picked up the smallest bucket and used it to wash the vomit away, towards Clint's feet. The archer didn't respond however, he was still unconscious. Now that he could get closer, John soaked a cloth in a bucket of soapy water and began to wash Clint's right shoulder. It was the closest thing to him and as good a place to start as any.

"You can't let this happen," Steve pressed. He knew that Tasha had forced sex on Clint more than once. He'd had the terrible pleasure of witnessing the last time she'd done it. Clint was scarred by the events but the thought of a line up of men waiting to use his friend was more than Steve could face. "Please, don't do this."

"I'm not doing it," John responded. He'd cleaned the right side of Clint's torso and was now moving onto his left side. The first bucket of water was pretty grimy all ready but he'd only brought so many so he kept using it. "That would be the men who choose to rape him that are going to do it."

"Stop it," Steve breathed. Giving in to the desperation and sadness that were trying to overwhelm him, Steve closed his eyes and slumped back against the wall behind him. Frantically he tried to come up with a plan, any plan to prevent this from happening. Five minutes later, he was still drawing a blank.

Clint knew something was wrong. He knew he had to stay conscious to prevent whatever was going to happen. But, every time Clint forced his mind to the surface, the pain pounced. He would stay awake from anywhere between ten and thirty seconds. Then, he'd be pulled back under. The pain was winning and so intense he couldn't draw breath while he was awake. Once he was unconscious, his body took over and forced him to breathe.

Forcing his way into the conscious world once again, Clint sucked in a pained breath and tried to blink his eyes clear. He was dimly aware that Steve was talking but he couldn't hear the words. He slowly became aware of the fact that something wet was being wiped down his side. Automatically, Clint tried to move away from the touch. Instantly, his back reacted to the movement, erupting in yet new pain as blood began to flow in small trickles down his back. Gasping, Clint was no longer aware as darkness dragged him back down.

Gritting his teeth, John tried to ignore the sounds that were coming from Clint with each breath. He knew the man was in unimaginable pain. This wasn't the first time he'd seen all of this done before. But, most often the men who'd suffered at Cave's order had been evil men.

John chose to not be aware of what went on in the world. It complicated his mind too much more often than not. Still, he knew who Clint was, what he did. He knew that Clint and Captain America had helped prevent the entire world being taken over by aliens. This was not a bad man he was striving to clean up. Swallowing his doubts, John concentrated on what he was doing. It was just easier that way.

OOOOO

John was just finishing cleaning Clint. He'd slowed down unconsciously because he could hear the loud, raucous sounds outside the cell of the men lining up to take their turn at the man he was tending. Bile rose in his throat for the first time in a long time. Could he really let this happen? Glancing over at Steve, John quickly ducked his head again. He had no choice. Cave was his boss. He had a degree of loyalty towards the man. On top of that he knew the man would kill him if he tried to interfere in any way with what was about to happen.

"Please," Steve pleaded. He was back to pulling on the chains. He could hear the words being spoken outside. The men waiting with such relish to abuse his friend were part of the reason he'd originally chosen to remove himself from this world. He couldn't believe that men or people in general were willing to subject such suffering on another human being simply to generate pleasure for themselves. Mindlessly he strained against the metal bonds, completely oblivious to the ravaging his wrists had all ready taken. "Please don't let this happen."

Ignoring the man, John was finished. Sitting back on his heels where he knelt in front of Clint's limp body, the mercenary looked up into Clint's slack face. The bile was back. Swallowing quickly, John moved to stand up. At the last moment, though, he paused, reached forward and gently moved Clint's feet backward so they were no longer touching the ground. The new position put more pressure on the man's back but he was pretty sure it was a fair trade off.

Slowly, John began the process of cleaning up the supplies he'd used. Behind him the door to the cell flew open. On guard, the mercenary turned quickly, expecting to have to push one of the rabid men back out of the room. What he found instead, though, was Tasha marching towards him, a rage twisting her beautiful face that made his blood start to run cold.

"Miss Romanoff, what can I do for you?" John asked. It was automatic to him to be polite. He was surprised to see the woman, especially as angry as she was. Hadn't Cave's treatments severed all emotional connection to the man hanging behind him?

"Is it true?" Tasha demanded. She tried to move past Cave's right hand man to reach Clint. For some unknown reason she felt the need to undo his shackles and lower the man to the ground. Mentally shaking her head, Tasha allowed the fury to wash over her again. Who the hell was Cave to give her toy to every swinging dick in the place? She could kill the man at the moment.

"Yes," John responded simply. Satisfied that the woman wasn't going to do anything rash, at least not in the next two minutes, John turned away from her to continue cleaning up. He wasn't going to leave these men anything to use as a prop against the man moaning lowly in front of him.

"He can't do that!" Tasha growled. John had stopped her forward momentum. Now she was pacing around the cell like a caged animal, her anger fuelling every step. "Barton is mine!"

"No, Miss Romanoff, Mr. Barton belongs to Mr. Cave. He always has," John stated. Standing up, he was getting ready to leave the room. He was only dimly aware of the fact that the hallway beyond the door had gone very quiet. Tasha's pacing was covering up some of the lack of sound.

"No!" Tash spit. She rounded on the mercenary, intent on ripping his head off. She was completely unprepared for the door to the cell to fly open and the room to suddenly fill with too many bodies. Instinctively, she fought against the nearest body. She was used to being able to neutralize any opponent. As a result, she was surprised to be quickly caught and cuffed. Only then did she see who she'd been trying to fight. Iron Man's helmet glared at her, if that was possible.

"Let's go," Tony's tiny voice ordered. Struggling against the restraints, Tasha tried desperately to get away. Shrugging, Tony raised his hand and fired one of his lifters. The woman hit the wall, hard, and then crumbled to the floor, unconscious.

"Was that really necessary?" Thor asked. He'd come in behind Tony and hadn't really gotten the entire picture yet. Standing back, John held his hands up, waiting to see what kind of justice was about to be meted out. Beyond the blond god's shoulder he could see all the men in the corridor sprawled on the floor. For some reason, seeing their twisted unconscious forms made him feel better.

"Get Clint down!" Steve ordered. He was so very relieved to see the others but their banter was grating on his nerves. It was as if they didn't see the state the archer was in. But then, Steve guessed they really hadn't, yet.

"No problem," Tony said. He turned towards the slumped archer and stopped dead. For the first time he really saw the man. Rushing forward, he caught hold of Clint's torso and tried to pull him up so he wasn't hanging from his arms. Inadvertently, he lifted the man up enough that his feet touched the ground. In his arms, Tony heard the smaller man moan and then whimper as his thin body began to tremble uncontrollably. "What the hell?"

Thor had turned his attention to Steve and pulled his shackles open. Instantly, the soldier was rushing forward, trying to pull Clint away from a confused Tony.

"Get his feet off the ground," Steve ordered. The room was suddenly too small and he couldn't quite reach the younger blond man. Unsure of how else to touch the archer, Tony lifted him up and then turned towards Thor.

A startled gasp burst through the god's defences as his blue eyes regarded the damage done to Barton's back. "What have they done to him?" Thor demanded. The man's back was covered with welts, open wounds and dried and fresh blood. The pain emanating from the tortured flesh made the god's skin crawl. Then his gaze was drawn to the archer's feet. Tears pricked the underside of Thor's eye lids. What have they done?

Suddenly, the god wanted nothing more than to protect the smaller man. Seeing how awkward Tony was being, Thor stepped forward and carefully removed the battered form from Iron Man's hands. He pulled Clint's chest against his own, allowing the blond man's head to rest on his shoulder. Carrying the smaller man much like a sleeping child, he held him up by wrapping his arms around his upper legs, just under his butt. Another low moan emitted from Clint at the contact with his butt but Thor just assumed it was the other injuries. Besides, it was the lesser of the evils. By holding Clint the way he was he kept the man's back from being touched and his feet off the ground.

"What didn't they do to him?" Steve answered with another question. As much as he wanted to beat John to a pulp, he knew they were rapidly running out of time. Cave was bound to figure out something was going on. Deliberately, he moved toward John. Grasping the man by the neck, he forced the soldier over to the shackles Clint had first awoken in. They were the only ones that were still intact. Then he shackled the man to the wall and shoved one of the cloths into his mouth. He didn't want to kill John when he was unarmed and helpless but the urge was very strong.

"Let's get out of here," Steve said. "Where's Bruce?"

"We weren't ready to let the Big Guy out so he'd back at camp, waiting for us to bring you both back," Tony said. Now that his arms were free, he turned to the still unconscious form of Tasha. Despite everything, he couldn't leave her. Sighing with frustration, he bent down, picked the woman up and turned to face the others. "Let's go."

_A/N: Yeah, I'm sorry. I couldn't let it happen. As awful as I've been to Clint I couldn't allow him to be gang raped. I hope you can survive without that happening. Besides, I figure I've beaten the crap out of the man enough...for the moment. ;)_

_Thank you to Sinkme for taking the time to review! I can't tell you how much that means to me. _

_I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. _


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello! Yes, I'm still alive. My muse has been uncooperative of late. This took a lot longer than it should have to come out. I hope you enjoy it though._

_Thank you for the wonderful reviews. They are truly precious to me. I know it's not always convenient to take the time to review but I love to hear from you! _

_I hope the next chapter doesn't take quite so long. I figure once I can actually sit and watch the movie while I write things should go a lot quicker. I hope. _

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Eight

Out in the hallway Stark stopped to stare at the unconscious men sprawled on the floor. "What was this all about?" Randomly, Tony nudged the nearest man with his foot. The man was huge all muscle with a bald head, scraggly beard and tattoos running up both arms. Tony was glad Thor had been the one to take him on, even with his suit.

"You don't want to know," Captain Rogers responded. He cast a glance behind him as the door to their cell slid shut. He could have sworn John had a small smile on his handsome face. Steve gave him the benefit of the doubt and decided it was more from relief than glee.

"That bad?" Stark asked. He shifted Tasha a little. He hoped it was a less comfortable position than before for the woman. Despite his best efforts to forgive Tasha, he wanted her to suffer, if only a little bit for what she'd done to Clint.

"Yeah," Steve said. It took every ounce of control he had to keep from stomping each and every one of the men to death. A low groan from Clint broke his resolve. "They were lining up to have their way with Clint. Gordon Cave came up with the idea."

Stark stopped dead in his tracks, surely he'd heard that wrong. Slowly he turned around to face the blonde soldier. The misery on Steve's face confirmed that he'd heard right. Anger, far worse than anything he'd felt before erupted through the Avenger. "Son of bitch," Tony swore. Kicking the large man solidly in the head, Tony looked up and down the hallway. Selecting the nearest door, he stormed towards it, kicking it open. "This time he's going to pay."

Beyond the door was what appeared to be a lounge or a staff room. Cupboards and cabinets lined the right wall. Narrow windows ran the length of the middle wall with a table and chairs and book shelves underneath the windows. On the right wall there was an overstuffed couch and two overstuffed chairs. Stalking over to one of the kitchen chairs, Steve deposited Tasha in it and secured her to it, including a gag. "We're ending this now."

Indicating the couch to Thor, Tony left the room for a moment. There were a series of wet thuds, followed by the cell door opening. Once the cell closed again, Tony returned with three automatic rifles clutched in one hand and several clips in the other. These he thrust at Steve. "Keep him safe at all costs. If she wakes up and threatens Hawkeye in any way, shoot her. Thor and I will be back shortly," Tony instructed.

"Where are we going?" Thor asked. He stood beside the couch, still holding Clint. The smaller man wasn't heavy at all for the god to hold. He found, though, that the thought of putting Clint down did not appeal to him. While he held Hawkeye, he knew he was safe. Even though he'd understood what Tony had meant, he chose to ignore him. Thor was ready to leave. Hawkeye had all ready suffered enough within these walls.

"We're going to deal with Cave once and for all," Tony spat. "Leave Clint here with Steve, he'll keep Hawkeye safe."

Not entirely convinced, Thor hesitated for a few more seconds. Sighing heavily, he gently placed the smaller man's battered body on the couch, making sure he was on his stomach and that his feet didn't touch the end. Still, Clint moaned as soon as his body made contact with the cushions. Then he seemed to settle back into unconsciousness. Sighing heavily again, Thor stood up to face Stark.

"That's not a good idea, Tony. We need to get Clint out of here and in a hospital as soon as possible," Steve pushed. He had all ready failed to protect Clint once. He didn't want to take the chance that he was going to fail again, even with rifles in hand. God how he hated guns!

"We need to make sure Gordon Cave can never get hold of Clint again. Right now I don't care if we catch him OR kill him, I just want him done!" Tony grated. Frustrated beyond his ability to control, Tony turned and headed towards the door. If Thor didn't want to follow him he was going to do it alone. He worked best alone anyway after all.

"Go with him, I'll watch over these two," Steve said. It was still a really bad idea but Steve wasn't letting Tony go alone. Despite the intentions of the men outside, they weren't all bad. Not all of them deserved to face Tony's wrath. He wasn't entirely sure that Thor would have a more level head but he was willing to take the chance.

"We'll be back soon," Thor assured the blonde captain as he followed Tony out into the hallway.

Suddenly feeling vulnerable, Steve locked the door and pushed a large cabinet in front of it. Then he moved over to the windows and pulled the bamboo shades down, decreasing the light in the room by half. It also, however, kept anyone from looking in from the outside and seeing them.

Unsure of what else to do, Steve checked the small fridge humming away under the counter top and removed two bottles of water. Padding over to the couch, Steve picked up the rifles and clips along the way and then sat on the floor beside Clint's head. Now came the hard part, waiting. Sighing deeply in exhaustion and impatience, Steve settled in for as long as it took.

OOOOO

Time seemed to stand still. Steve had absolutely no idea how long he sat there, waiting for Thor and Tony to return. Every once in a while the captain sent a glance towards Natasha, to ensure that she was still unconscious. Beside him, Steve could hear Clint's breathing hitch randomly as pain from his various injuries flashed through his body. The archer's hand was resting lightly on the edge of the couch. When the pain became especially bad, his fingers would dig into the cushion, leaving marks when they finally relaxed.

Steve found that he was holding his breath during the times Clint's fingers clawed at the couch. It was an unconscious reaction. But it was the only way the captain could lend support to the younger man without touching him and possibly aggravating the pain he was all ready in. After the latest spasms of pain, Steve settled back down onto the floor, resting his forehead on the couch cushion. He wasn't even aware of how tired he was and so was completely unprepared when he fell soundly asleep.

OOOOO

Hawkeye lived in a world of pain. There were varying shades and degrees depending on which parts of his body he turned his attention to. Mostly, though, the blonde archer simply tried to stay in the comforting darkness that was unconsciousness. He knew that he was being a coward staying where he was but after all the pain he'd experienced since this began he simply didn't have it in him anymore.

Then he slowly became aware of a new agony ripping through his body. Groaning loudly, Clint was forced back into the world. Blinking several times to clear his eyes and mind, he came to realize what was happening. Ignoring the damage all ready done to him, Clint shifted on the couch, trying to dislodge the dark shape that was hovering beside him.

"We aren't done yet, sweetheart," Tasha purred. Another spike of pain flashed through him, taking Clint's breath away. He was having trouble concentrating, trouble figuring out what was going on around him. Still, he knew that he didn't want his ex-partner anywhere near him. Shifting his hips, Clint brought his feet around and kicked at Tasha's right side. The agony that the abrupt, massive pressure on his feet created blacked out his world for a few seconds.

Panting desperately, Clint came back. Tasha was back. She had hold of his left hand and was trying to break his middle finger. She'd all ready broken the index finger on that hand and his thumb. That was the pain that had brought him back. Grunting, Clint twisted, trying to pull his hand out of her grasp. All he managed to do was to break the healing scabs on his back and start the blood trickling again. The bone finally snapped dragging a scream from Clint's tightly drawn lips.

"That's what I like to hear," Tasha giggled as she moved onto Clint's next finger. She loved the feel of her partner's body trembling with fear and shock until her fingers and the panting, groaning and screaming sounds he was making. They were like music to her ears. Smiling gleefully, Tasha prepared to break his left ring finger.

"Leave him alone!" Steve growled. He didn't dare to shout because he didn't want to let anyone who happened to be outside hear them. Still, Steve surged to his feet, pulling Tasha away from Clint and throwing her across the coffee table a foot away from them. He'd fallen asleep. God damn him but he'd left Clint vulnerable again. Cursing vehemently under his breath, Steve continued to wrestle with Tasha, trying to get her back under control. He'd never fought the woman before and was completely unprepared for her abilities.

Just as Steve was about to lose what little grip he had on Natasha, there was a loud bang and the woman tumbled to the ground in a heap. Breathing heavily, Steve caught hold of the smaller, red haired woman and pulled her several feet away from Clint. Glancing back over his shoulder, Steve saw the archer slowly collapsing, looking paler and weaker than he'd thought possible as he slumped back onto the couch, a large metal shelf he'd pulled off the side table slipping nervelessly through his damaged hand.

"I'm so sorry," Steve said as he secured Tasha once again to the chair. He hated himself. How could he let it happen again? Still cursing, Steve finished with Tasha and moved swiftly over to Clint. The door pushed open like the cabinet wasn't there just as he reached the smaller man.

"What the hell happened?" Tony demanded taking in the damage in the room. There were dents in his suit but he had his helmet open. Behind him, Thor was looking similarly rumpled and beaten. But he could tell from the way they were carrying themselves that they were at least partially successful in their mission. He chose to not ask any questions. That would take up valuable time they needed to get the hell out of here.

"I fell asleep," Steve admitted as he helped a still panting Clint to get better situated on the couch. The man's skin was slick with sweat and cold to the touch. Lying on the couch beside his body, Clint's broken hand was beginning to swell. Still cursing, Steve turned back to the others. "She got loose. We need to get Clint to a hospital, now!"

"Damn it!" Tony swore as he took in Clint's new condition. It wasn't a whole lot different than his old condition except for the swelling hand. Damn it. The archer wasn't going to be able to use his bow any time soon. Somehow Tony knew that had been the reason for targeting the man's hands. Turning, Tony glared at the slumped figure of Natasha. How he wanted to just leave her there. It would be so damned easy. Taking a deep, calming breath, Tony looked at Thor. "Let's get going."

"Did you at least get Cave?" Steve demanded. Had this all really been for nothing? The thought tormented him.

"Ah," Tony hedged. To prolong answering the question further, he gritted his teeth and moved to pick up Tasha. He still wasn't going to leave her here. Not now. "No. We didn't get Cave. He knew something was up when he lost communication with all those guys outside. All we found was his command center."

"Son of a bitch," Steve swore.

"All is not lost, Steve Rogers," Thor said, trying to placate the man. "Tony Stark was able to find information on Gordon Cave's computers that might help us understand what he did to Natasha Romanoff."

"Oh, good. That's great. In the mean time she broke Clint's fingers because I was sleeping. I feel much better now, thank you," Steve spat out. He just wanted to get out of here. "Can we leave now?"

OOOOO

The trip out of the compound was short. Steve was shocked by it, actually, until he realized Stark had blown a hole through the corridor wall. The hole was ragged but beyond it he could see the thick green world of the jungle. The air in the corridor alone was enough to life Rogers' spirits. But a glance over his shoulder at Clint squashed the happiness. A thought finally occurred to him. "How did you find us?"

"Um..." Tony hedged. He was careful not to turn around and look at the blonde soldier while they stepped through the hole in the wall and out into the jungle. "I was following Clint's tracker until it disappeared. I was able to find him by pinpointing his last known location. It took a while but eventually I narrowed it down to the hall we just left."

"I'm glad you were paying attention," Steve responded. Over Thor's shoulder he could see the top of Clint's head. The archer's hair was plastered to his skull because he was sweating profusely. Steve had never been close enough to Thor to know if the man had a higher core temperature than Midgardians but he knew in his heart that he probably didn't. Fear returned to gnaw at his mind and stomach. "Can we hurry this up?"

"We could.." Stark said as he paced carefully through the dense undergrowth. "But that would leave you behind. You can't fly Captain America."

"Then tell me which direction to go in," Steve growled. He knew Clint needed medical attention as soon as humanly or godly possible. If that meant leaving him behind, he was more than willing to do that.

"That's not going to happen, cap. We just got you back. We aren't going to lose you all ready," Tony said. The jungle was thick. He and Thor hadn't bothered to walk through it but now that they had Tasha and Clint, there was no way to move all three of them. Walking was the best alternative, at the moment.

"Fine, then get Clint out of here. He needs to see a doctor," Steve pressed. He was panting in exhaustion, trying to get through the jungle was really kicking his ass. The last few days had done a number on him. The weakness of his limbs was bringing back particularly unpleasant memories from his childhood. Gritting his teeth, he pushed on.

"He has a point," Tony stated. Despite his suit Tasha was getting a little heavy. Desperately he wanted to just take off and land in camp. That wasn't a possibility though. Quickly, he cued his communicator and spoke to Nick Fury on the helicarrier. They needed to get Clint to Banner as fast as the carrier could reach them. "The Helicarrier is on the way but you should go meet it. That'll cut travel time."

Thor pulled the still unconscious Clint a few inches away from him so he could get a better look at the archer. Immediately he knew Rogers was right. The archer looked horrible and was getting worse with each passing minute. Gently, he pulled the smaller man back against his chest. Suddenly that didn't seem quite close enough. Clutching Clint a little closer, Thor nodded to Tony while juggling the limp body in his arms enough for him to draw out his hammer, Mjolnir. "I will see you there," the blonde god said.

"Take care of him," Steve said. Part of him hated to see the younger man go. The other part knew it was essential. He was nearly overwhelmed by the enormity of his failure to protect Barton. The thought of letting Thor disappear with the lifeless man was almost more than he could take. Deliberately, Steve took a deep breath. He was going to have to trust the others to take care of Clint now.

With a final glance at his comrades, Thor gripped Clint a little tighter, lifted his hammer and leaped into the air. In his one arm, Clint began to shift around immediately. Thor knew it was because his arm was now pressing into the man's ravaged back but it was the only way to carry him without dropping him. Against his chest, Thor could feel the smaller man stir slightly, as if he were trying to get away.

Over the roar of the wind of their passage through the air, Thor tried to speak to the man, to calm him. "Agent Barton, you are safe now. Please be still."

Clint moaned against his chest and struggled weakly to push his damaged body away from the god's too hard chest. He was only dimly aware of where he was or of what was going on around him. All Clint knew was that something bad was going to happen to him and that the person holding him was definitely not Steve Rogers. Panic overwhelmed the pain, allowing the archer to forget it for a moment. With every ounce of strength he still possessed, Clint tried to pry his protesting body out of the man's grip. He nearly succeeded despite the weakness of his damaged left hand.

Desperately, Thor dropped towards the ground. Clint had almost pulled his body out of the god's hold. If he had, he would have fallen fifty feet to the jungle canopy below. The fall would have killed the archer. At the last second Thor found a small clearing beside a stream. Landing as gently as he could given his rapid rate of descent, the god scanned their immediate area for a place to put the smaller man while Clint continued to struggle against him. Rapidly the man was losing strength but Thor was concerned he might accidently hurt him if he tried to restrain him in any way.

Finally, he settled on a small bed of moss he found. Carefully, Thor laid the thrashing man on top of it. Instantly, Clint rolled onto his back, ignoring the pain, so he could face whoever was attacking him. In the fog of pain and panic, it took the archer several blinks before he registered who the giant standing above him really was. "Thor?" Clint asked, barely believing what his blue eyes were telling him. How was this possible?

"Yes, Clint Barton, you are safe," Thor responded. It was a vast relief to see the man awake and aware. As he watched, though, the smaller man's clarity was rapidly decreasing with each passing minute as the pain reasserted itself.

"Where's Steve?" Clint managed as he struggled to get off his screaming back. The adrenalin that had flooded his system when he'd first come around was rapidly evaporating, leaving him weak and shaking. He hissed as he pressed his left hand against the ground.

"He is unable to fly. Tony Stark is with him waiting for the helicarrier. We chose to bring you to the machine rather than wait," Thor responded. Reaching down, the god caught hold of Clint's right upper arm and gently pulled him into a seated position, thus taking the weight off his ravaged back. Unfortunately, the position caused crusted over furrows to crack, creating beads of blood that trickled down Clint's back to be absorbed into the waist band of his pants. A shiver ran from the tips of the blonde archer's toes all the way to the top of his head. A groan slipped through Clint's clenched teeth as new pain blossomed and spread in response.

"Can you hold on to me?" Thor asked. Under his steady gaze, Clint's appearance was rapidly slipping. Even supporting the smaller man, the god could feel his muscles spasms and trembling with fatigue.

Blinking sluggishly, Clint assessed his situation. It only took a moment though. Blurrily, Clint shook his head no. Shame and humiliation tried to smother the archer. The emotions were so strong that they seemed to have physical weight that settled on his chest. Instantly, Clint's breathing became more laboured.

"Are you ready to travel?" Thor asked. He didn't really wait for an answer. Shifting his grip slightly, the god easily pulled the smaller man off the ground. A strangled scream erupted from Clint as his back muscles were stretched and pulled, changing the beads of blood to trickles. Grunting against the pain, Clint fought to stay awake as his vision swam from red to black. He was distantly aware that Thor had slung him over his shoulder and had leapt into the air.

In his field of view, all Clint saw was the rich fabric of Thor's cape. Distracted, he wondered when the cape had been changed to a black colour. Then he slumped into unconsciousness.

On his back, Thor could feel the small man's body go from stiff and tense to limp in a matter of seconds. Grinding his teeth in frustration, Thor forced his hammer to go faster.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hello! No, I'm not dead, I promise. I've been struggling with this chapter. Somehow it just doesn't quite feel right. Oh, well, I hope you enjoy it anyway. _

_Thank you very much to everyone who has added this story to your favourite list or are following it. A very special thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review! I live for reviews. I'm not ashamed to admit it. _

_Thanks for reading!_

Chapter Nine

As gently as he could, Thor landed on the flight deck of the helicarrier. The great machine was moving at a slower than usual pace. Thor assumed that they were trying to reach the compound while still allowing soldiers to work on the flight deck. Even after all this time there were still repairs that had to be made after Hulk and Barton attacked the helicarrier.

Immediately after his boots struck the surface, Thor saw Dr. Banner and a group of medical personnel running towards him with a gurney. They'd come out of one of the entrances from the ship and were wasting no time in covering the ground between them.

"Bruce Banner," Thor called as he strode towards them, effectively cutting the distance by at least half. The soldiers working on the flight deck parted like the Red Sea for Moses. While the helicarrier was passing over the jungle they all had work to do but none of them could keep from pausing and staring at Thor as he strode among them, the unconscious Barton held carefully in front of him.

"What happened?" Bruce asked as he met up with Thor. The dark haired doctor gently placed his right hand against the back of Clint's head. He was greatly relieved to find that the agent was still alive. Immediately, the doctor was assessing what he could see of the archer's injuries. Immediately, the 'Big Guy', was trying to erupt to rip off heads because of Clint's condition. Bruce carefully forced his alter ego back under control.

"I am unsure of the details," Thor said. He glared at the other medical personnel as they tried to move closer, to reach Clint. "I do know that Agent Romanoff broke three of the fingers on Agent Barton's left hand."

A second body burst through the medical personnel that were trying to dislodge Clint from Thor's arms. The god ignored them. Somehow, however, Thor was unsurprised to see the woman, Sarah. Her broad face awash with concern, she stepped toward Clint, a trembling hand rising to her mouth in shock. Tears sprouted in the corners of her eyes as she touched the unconscious man's right arm.

"My God," a deep voice spoke from behind Thor. The god recognized the voice as belonging to Nick Fury. The tall black man was striding towards the small group. His usually stoic features were betraying the level of his concern for his agent. Clint was more than just another agent to the director of SHIELD, he was a trusted friend.

Motioning Thor forward, Bruce indicated to the tall man to lay Clint on the gurney. Thor glanced around at the other members of Bruce's team and decided to ignore the instructions. Turning to the doctor, Thor waited for him to lead the way. Shaking his head, Bruce simply led him in the direction of sick bay. From what he'd seen of the state of Clint's back, Bruce had to turn away for a moment while he fought the Hulk. It took every ounce of control he possessed to keep the green guy under wraps.

"Clint?" Sarah breathed as she took in the most obvious damage. Shortly after Agent Barton left she'd known there was something wrong. But not in her wildest imaginings had she ever considered anything to this extent. By now nothing the man had been subjected to should surprise her. Still, it did.

"Where are Stark and Rogers?' Fury asked as he stepped up beside Thor. The other medical personnel had fallen back, still pushing the gurney as the Fury, Banner, Sarah and Thor entered the confines of the carrier. As they moved down the crowded corridors, Sarah tried to examine the rest of Clint's tortured body. Everything she found simply made her angrier.

How Sarah hated Natasha Romanoff! Even though she hadn't been told the details of the mission Clint had been on or the details of its failure, she knew intuitively that the woman was somehow involved with the torture she was seeing. Not a violent woman, if Natasha were placed in front of her at the moment, Sarah would have been hard pressed to keep from killing her with her bare hands.

"Iron Man is waiting with Steve Rogers at the compound. We apprehended Natasha Romanoff and were unable to move all three rapidly," Thor responded. They'd reached sick bay and Thor gently laid Clint down on his stomach on the nearest gurney. Fury tried to usher him away from the unit to give the others room to work but Thor was rooted to the spot. He was not going to leave Clint until he was absolutely sure he was safe. Unsure of the integrity of the other medical staff that tried to descend, Thor glared at them until only Bruce and Sarah were left. That made him feel better, at least he trusted these two with the unconscious archer.

"Damn it," Fury swore. Against his will his eyes were drawn to Clint, lying on his stomach. He could clearly see the whip marks on the agent's back and the swelling and bruising on the soles of his feet. Quickly he looked away to gather his thoughts. Keying his com, he gave Hill orders to move faster towards the compound. "It would go faster if you told Hill were exactly they were. Can you go to the bridge?"

Casting one last glance at Clint, Thor nodded once at Fury and left. He was needed elsewhere. Thor knew that Sarah and Bruce would care for Clint and protect him if need be.

"How is he?" Nick asked, turning his attention to Bruce once Thor strode from the room. Just looking at the archer's back was enough to make him want to bomb the entire compound into the ground.

"We need to determine the extent of his injuries," Bruce responded. "He's been pretty badly beaten but none of it should have lasting results, at least nothing I've seen so far."

"We will head back to New York as soon as we have the others on board. Until then, do what you can for him," Fury instructed.

Sarah wasn't paying any attention to the two men. At the moment nothing they had to say meant anything to her. "IV?" she asked Bruce during the brief lull in the conversation. She knew Clint needed fluids but wanted to have the doctor's input before she proceeded.

"Yes, one in each arm. We need to hydrate him as fast as possible," Bruce instructed before turning back to Nick Fury. While they talked she placed the IV's in Clint's arms. While the fluids dripped into his veins, Sarah began gently washing the grime and sweat off Clint's battered body. Until he was clean, they didn't have a prayer of combating the infection that had begun to take hold of his ravaged back.

Sarah started at Clint's face, at least the right side of it since it was the only part she could currently reach. It seemed the most logical place to begin. As she rubbed the damp cloth over the archer's handsome features, she felt her heart constrict with sadness. He had all ready been through so much. Desperately she hoped that Natasha got what was coming to her.

Under Sarah's ministrations she felt the younger man's muscles twitching in response to her touch and the pain she was causing. Bile rose in her throat but she continued to work. Being as gentle and thoroughly as she could, Sarah made small comforting sounds, deliberately ignoring the moans and whimpers that emitted from Clint. Part way down Clint's back, Sarah felt his muscles stiffen and then he shifted around. It seemed like he was waking up. Hope sprang in her heart and mind.

The pain burning through Clint's body was gut wrenching in its intensity. As hard as the archer tried to stay awake, all ready he could feel his body trying to pull him down into the black depths of oblivion. It felt like someone was trying to rip him apart from the inside and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop it. A groan escaped from his tightly drawn lips as he rode the waves of agony.

"You're okay, Agent Barton," Sarah reassured the blonde archer. Moving into the man's line of sight, she smiled at him. "You're safe now."

"Sarah?" Clint asked, not believing his eyes and ears. How had the woman come to be here? In his muddled state, he couldn't come up with an answer. Unsteadily, he reached out to her and touched her face. Awe spread through him when she didn't disappear. "How?"

"I asked Dr. Banner to bring me," Sarah said. Tenderly she took Clint's right hand in both of hers and held on tight. The months since Tasha's last attack on Clint had been lonely ones for her but she'd been content to know that he was safe and doing well. Those delusions had been shattered three days ago when she'd awakened from a deep sleep, knowing Clint was in danger, again. A ghost of a smile played across Clint's cracked dry lips as he surrendered once more to unconsciousness.

Sarah spent a few moments examining the archer's hand, held securely in her own. She marvelled at how thin and boney his long fingers were and how broad his ragged and dirty finger nails were. The archer's hand spoke of strength, pain and a hardness she couldn't remember ever encountering before. Tears prickled in the corners of Sarah's brown eyes as her gaze shifted from Clint's hand to his face. Sorrow threatened to overwhelm her. Releasing the archer, Sarah forced her protesting body up so that she could finish what she'd started.

"Thank you," Bruce said from behind Sarah. She barely managed to cover the surprise of hearing the doctor's voice so close. Sarah had been so intent on what she was doing that she hadn't realized that Fury had left.

"Thank you," Sarah responded without looking up. "for allowing me to come."

Bruce had nearly had to sic Hulk on Fury to get him to give Sarah clearance for the trip. He knew immediately that something was wrong when he'd walked into his office and found Sara, pacing like a caged animal three mornings ago. Listening to the woman explain her dreams and fears, Bruce knew he had to believe her. Between Sarah and Tony they convinced Fury that Clint was in trouble. The mission Barton and Rogers had been on had another three days before they were to be considered officially overdue. Eventually, though, Fury had believed them.

Smiling slightly at the woman, Bruce began to take Clint's vital signs and prepare to splint Clint's hand. Damn Tasha anyway. He'd been relieved to see the IV's up and running. Sarah really was wasted in maintenance. As he worked, Bruce realized that Sarah hadn't used normal saline solution for the IV's but had selected D5W, 5 percent Dextrose solution. Yes, she was definitely wasted. Not only was she increasing Clint's blood pressure and hydration levels, relieving some of the strain on his internal organs, she was also supplying said organs with nutrients. Shaking his head, Bruce added painkillers to one of the IV's and antibiotics into the other. It would help significantly with the pain Clint was all ready in and what they were about to cause him. It would also help to combat the infection that he could see starting in Clint's back.

Sarah continued cleaning Clint's battered body while Bruce began to repair some of the worst damage. Silently, the two of them worked in concert. As the painkillers began to take effect, Clint's body slowly relaxed and the muscle twitches started to abate.

OOOOO

"Where is he?" The voice was loud out in the corridor. Bruce recognized it instantly as Captain Rogers. Then the tall, muscular man burst into sick bay. He stopped abruptly when he saw Clint resting on his stomach on the bed, the more concerning wounds sealed and the clean white bandages and splints on his fingers. His skin was clean and he was covered with a white sheet from the waist down. Only his feet were visible. Bruce and Sarah were examining Clint's feet but the archer seemed blissfully unaware.

"How are you, Steve?" Bruce asked as he glanced at the soldier. He was horrified by what he was finding. While the damage wouldn't be permanent, he hoped, Clint was going to need a lot of time and rehabilitation to get back up on his feet. The Hulk tried once again to reach the surface. He wanted to 'smash' something, anything. Bruce forced him back down. That was the last thing Clint needed at the moment.

"I'm fine," Steve responded out of hand. He moved a little closer to Clint. Despite the lack of pain the archer was still very pale and his clean skin was slowly being covered by beads of sweat. "How is he?"

"He'll be fine," Bruce reassured him. For a quick second he glanced up at the blonde captain. Damn, but he looked like death warmed over too. The large abrasions on the captain's wrists alone needed to be dealt with quickly. He turned his attention to the dark haired woman sitting beside him. "All we can do with these for now is clean them up and apply antibiotic cream. Can you do that? I'd like to examine Captain Rogers."

"Sure thing, Dr. Banner," Sarah responded. She smiled up at the captain, feeling a little uncomfortable in the powerful man's presence, before turning around to get what she needed.

"I'm fine," Steve stated again as he pulled over an empty chair and set it up by Clint's head. Now that he was back with the archer he had no intention of being parted from him again, even with Sarah here to watch over him.

"You are not fine, Steve," Bruce said. "I know you want to keep an eye on Clint but you're going to have to do that from that bed over there." Without waiting for Steve's consent, Bruce pulled on the captain's arm and moved him to the next bed. Gently but forcefully, the doctor pushed Steve into a seated position on the clean white sheets.

"I'm fine," Steve persisted. He tried to climb back off the bed but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"No, Steve, you're not. Please, the more cooperative you are, the faster this will be. Clint is in good hands," Bruce reassured the Avenger. Visibly the blonde man slumped onto the comfortable bed. Almost instantly his eyes were trying to slam shut. While there weren't too many obvious injuries to the man other than his wrists, Bruce could see that he too was dehydrated and in need of food. Well, at least these were easy things to fix. Quickly, he set up two IV's, one in either arm. He was careful to select D5W. Steve needed nutrients too. Then he set about fixing the damage done to Steve's wrists.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello! I'm so very sorry that it has taken me so long to update this story. I've really struggled with this chapter, changing it several times but this seems to be the best I could come up with. Thank you for being patient. I hope the next chapter won't be quite so slow._

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Ten

The world around Sarah had been reduced to the ravaged flesh of Clint's feet. Every time she touched the skin, Clint would flinch despite the pain killers. It set her teeth on edge but she desperately needed to clean the damage done by the leather strap. While she worked as gently and as thoroughly as she could, Sarah was unaware of the stream of tears that were running down her face. How could a human being do this to another person? This level of evil was beyond her ability to comprehend.

Concentrating on the work in front of her, Sarah completely lost track of what the two Avengers were discussing. The pain Clint must be in under the medication must have been absolutely intense. Under her breath, Sarah cursed Natasha with each tender wipe at the puss and fluid weeping out of the archer's feet. Bile was constantly at the back of her throat but she ignored that as well. The only thing that mattered was tending to the blonde young man unconscious on the bed.

It took longer than it probably should have but Sarah wasn't willing to rush, there was too much damage. When she was finally satisfied, she'd carefully washed again every inch of exposed skin, lathered on the ointment and then lightly wrapped them in white bandages. Standing up, Sarah took her materials to the sink and sorted through it. The next item on her agenda was cleaning up Clint's wrists.

"You're sure he's going to be okay?" Steve asked as he watched Bruce tend his injuries.

"Yes, Steve, for the fifth time, yes, he will be okay. Rehab is probably in the future for him but nothing should be permanent. Once we get to New York we can have a plastic surgeon look at his back and feet. The scaring should be minimal," Bruce responded. Steve's own injuries were mild by comparison but he still wanted to make sure they were tended to properly. The doctor didn't want to put the Avenger's ability to heal to the test if he didn't have to.

Behind him, Bruce heard Sarah settle into a chair again. Curious, he glanced at her to find the woman seated on Clint's nearest side, studiously tending to the cuts, blood and mess that were now his wrists. How had he missed that? Bruce wondered. In the grand scheme of things Clint's wrists were a minor inconvenience but still, they were also a potential threat of infection.

"There, that should do it for now," Bruce said as he turned his attention back to his charge. Just as Bruce was about to stand up the floor under his feet shook, nearly sending him crashing to the floor. "What the hell?"

Instantly alarms began to ring throughout the helicarrier. Something bad was happening. As he regained his balance, Bruce threw a look at Steve. Captain America was all ready on his feet and headed for the door. "I'll let you know what's going on," he shouted over his shoulder.

"Cave wouldn't let her get away without a fight," Sarah stated simply. The wrists weren't nearly as bad as they could have been. She was finding that cleaning them was a lot faster and easier than anything else had been so far. That gave her some sense of hope that the end was near.

"I hope you're wrong," Bruce responded. Now that Clint's back was cleaned, the doctor knew they should begin on the archer's front. That was going to prove to be a little more difficult. Sighing heavily, he scanned the man's back to figure out the least painful way to do this. "Let's roll him over onto his side."

Nodding, Sarah gained her feet and stood on the other side of the bed, ready to help as Bruce needed it. As they rolled the unconscious man, she was overwhelmed again by the extent of his injuries. Swallowing a few times, she paused long enough to make sure that Clint was stable before she left to get more supplies.

"My God, Clint," Bruce breathed as he took in Clint's chest and abdomen. Clearly Nat's sadistic streak hadn't decreased in intensity. Just to be thorough, Bruce pulled the sheet down over Clint's legs. A sharp breath burst out as he recognized the dried fluid on the archer's genitals. There were also mild signs of abuse which suggested to the doctor that none of the interaction had been consensual. Cursing Black Widow under his breath, Bruce pulled the blanket up again.

He was going to deal with that when Sarah wasn't there. The woman had all ready had to deal with the archer's sexual abuse enough. Bruce had the distinct impression that Sarah was all too familiar with sexual abuse. Through observations of the woman's reactions and habits, he knew it had occurred during her childhood but that she also wasn't going to talk to him about it. She'd put it as far behind her as she could. That wasn't a wound he was willing to scratch at.

Sarah returned with a clean basin of water and other accessories in her hands. Setting them down, she looked to Bruce. If the doctor wanted to be the one to clean Clint's front she wasn't about to argue with him, well, not out loud anyway. Her maternal instincts had kicked in again and all she wanted to do was protect the man. Wrapping him up in bubble wrap for the rest of his life also seemed like a good idea.

Just as Bruce was about to accept wet cloth from Sarah, the ground shook again. The two looked at each other in concern as the rumbling seemed to last forever. Then the PA system came online. "Dr. Banner to the bridge," Nick Fury intoned.

"Damn it," Bruce swore as he looked down at Clint. The man's face was still pale and a thin sheen of sweat was all ready covering his skin. There were pain lines in the corners of his eyes and his mouth despite the morphine. As he watched, a spasm passed through Clint's body and registered on his face. The archer's breathing had become more rapid and shallow as well. "Damn it."

"I'll watch other him," Sarah assured the doctor. "If I need any help Dr. Lawrence is still here. Go, see what they want."

For a heart beat longer Bruce considered arguing but again Fury's voice demanded he join the others on the bridge. Sighing heavily, Banner handed over the cloth. "Just get him as clean as you can. If you find anything else wrong, let Dr. Lawrence know."

"Yes, Dr. Banner," Sarah responded. With one last reassuring look at the dark haired man, she deliberately turned away from him and began the task of cleaning up Clint. She wasn't even aware of the fact that Bruce left.

It took a lot less time to get Clint's stomach and abdomen washed off. During that time the entire ship shook three times. Concentrating on her work, Sarah tried to not notice that the intensity of the shaking kept getting worse. She tried to not notice the alarms that were blaring randomly through the metal structure. Beyond the metal hull she could hear huge booms just before the shudders. Also outside those walls she could hear thunder, the shriek of engines as jets flew off the tarmac and roaring that told her Doctor Banner wasn't going to be coming back any time soon.

Finished with the parts of Clint that she could see, tentatively Sarah pulled the sheet down. She didn't want to see this part of the much younger man again but she also wasn't about to let anyone else touch him. Sighing heavily, she tried to pay attention. Then she realized there was more than just grime covering Clint's genitals. Her stomach dropped somewhere around her knees as realization hit. The light claw marks told her the rest. As quickly as she could, while not causing discomfort for him or herself, Sarah cleaned Clint up.

Pulling the blanket back in place, Sarah glanced around the clinic. No one was really paying any attention to her. They'd all ready taken the hint that their help wasn't wanted. While Sarah had cleaned Clint's back she had only done a cursory wash of his buttocks. Again, she hadn't really wanted to look or touch the man in that way.

Sliding off the stool she'd been sitting on, Sarah moved around the bed until she was facing the archer's tortured back. She took a moment to steel herself before she grasped the sheet in one hand and slowly pulled it down over Clint's hips and legs. As soon as she went to spread the man's buttocks, however, to get a better look at his rectum, Clint began to shift around as if he were in pain. Gritting her teeth, Sarah moved to do a more detailed inspection. The subtle movements of the man's body became more pronounced and a quiet moan issued from him.

"Damn it," Sarah swore as she took in the redness and few drops of dried blood. The roaring outside the carrier was still evident. As much as she hated to draw the other medical personnel into this Sarah felt she had no choice. Neither she nor Banner had examined Clint there and now they had reason to. Leaving the archer to rest, Sarah paced over to where Dr. Lawrence was dealing with an injured crewman. As impatient as she was, she waited for him to give the nurse hovering nearby her orders before she caught the man's attention. Dr. Lawrence was a tall man with very blond hair and an easy manner about him. Under normal circumstances Sarah would have felt a little out of sorts around him but now she just wanted his help.

"Yes?" Dr. Lawrence asked, his brown eyes taking in the woman's concerned expression.

"I need help with Agent Barton," Sarah stated simply. Around them the other medical personnel were bustling about, dealing with new casualties as they came in. From the number of them she knew that there was fighting going on. That thought made her sad.

"Lead the way," Dr. Lawrence responded. He knew intuitively that it was killing the woman to ask for help so it had to be for a good reason.

Back at Clint's bed, Sarah briefly outlined what she'd found and then stepped back as the doctor bent to examine him. Again, as soon as any pressure was placed on Clint's buttocks, the man began to mumble and thrash a little, particularly when the doctor donned a latex glove lathered in gel and probed inside his rectum to check for damage.

"No..." Clint moaned as he struggled against the unwanted touch.

"Ssshhh," Sarah breathed as she settled down beside Clint and rested a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "Dr. Lawrence is examining you."

"No," Clint whispered, his face screwed up in pain. Memories of what had been done to him started to play through his mind's eye. That made the pain worse and much harder to rationalize. All he knew was that someone was inside his body and he didn't want them there. Flailing his free arm, Clint tried to knock the man's hand out of him. He wasn't successful.

"Please, Clint, he knows what he'd doing," Sarah said as she moved her head a little closer to the blonde archer. His skin was pale, blotchy and slick with sweat. Yet, it was cool to the touch. Despite the fluids he was still verging on shock. "Just a few moments more."

Clint tried to respond but darkness was all ready trying to overcome him. Between the pain and the memories, he felt like he was drowning in a sea of confusion and sensation. Desperately, he caught hold of Sarah's hand and held on for dear life.

"How much longer, doctor?" Sarah asked as the bones in her hand creaked under the pressure of Clint's grip. She wanted to loosen his hand but figured she'd give him what little comfort she could at the moment.

"Huh?" Dr. Lawrence grunted. He was concentrating on what he felt with his finger and not the discomfort he was causing. While there was some mild tearing, he didn't think it was worth trying to treat. Now that he noticed how anxious Agent Barton was he realized it really wasn't worth putting him through more. Gently, he pulled his finger out and removed his glove, dropping it in a waste can. "He should be fine. The damage is minimal and should heal on its own."

"Thank you," Sarah responded as she looked down at Clint's drawn face. His eyes were tightly shut and his lips were pursed together as if he was expecting something bad to happen. Sighing, Sarah used her free hand to push some of Clint's hair back away from his face. The archer unconsciously moved towards the warmth of her touch. Not sure of what else to do, Sarah placed the palm of her hand against Clint's cheek. Almost instantly the tension in the man's body began to face. Then he was asleep once more.

"You're good with him," Dr Lawrence stated. He'd stepped back to allow the woman room but had continued to watch. Suddenly looking a little embarrassed, Sarah mumbled a response before turning back to her cleaning duties. There were still Clint's legs to finish. Smiling slightly, Dr. Lawrence took his leave and returned to the steady flow of patients that were entering the clinic from the other end.

While she worked, Sarah was intensely aware of the sounds of battle reverberating through the walls. Every time she heard the Hulk roar she knew that Dr. Banner would not be coming to help in the near future. Well, that was all right, Clint's legs had received the least wounds. She didn't see anything that would require a doctor's attention when she pulled the sheet up. Settling down on her stool once again, she started where she'd left off.

OOOOO

"How many men does this bastard have?" Stark grated as he flew through the sky in his iron suit, knocking the small fighter jets out of the sky one by one. A short distance away, Thor was on the deck of the helicarrier, swinging his hammer to create lightning. This act made Tony a little nervous. The last thing he needed was to be hit by an electrical discharge while he was housed inside the suit of metal. Still, the god had incredible accuracy and was also helping to knock down the fighters.

"Too many," Steve replied. He was helping as he could but not being able to fly was hampering his efforts somewhat. He desperately wished either Natasha or Clint were well enough to fly him around in one of the shuttles. At least then he'd feel like he was doing something. From his position on the bridge, Captain America was trying to coordinate Stark, Thor and the Hulk to their best advantage. So far it seemed to be working but he hated being on the side lines. Around him the bridge was loud with people talking over their mouth pieces, also trying to coordinate efforts to defend the helicarrier. Up on his platform, Fury was scanning his computer screens and listening intently to everything that was going over the radio.

"There's no way all these planes were at that compound of his. Where the hell are they coming from?" Stark demanded. They were holding their own but for every two fighters they took out three seemed to take their place. Surely Cave was going to run out of resources soon, right?

"We haven't been able to pin down their base of operations but we've been a little busy," Fury responded. "Hill is on it now, just give her a minute or two."

"How's Barton?" Tony asked. He hadn't had time to check on the archer and it didn't look like he was going to have a chance any time soon. All he knew was that the woman, Sarah, was watching over him. That was a small measure of comfort. Angry, Stark turned his attention back to the machines attacking the helicarrier. It was going to be a long day.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hi. This is short, really short. Sorry about that. It seemed like a good place to stop. I hope you enjoy it._

Chapter Eleven

Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye, knew the pain was there, waiting to spring on him the moment he regained consciousness. He knew just how mind numbing and excruciating the pain would be when it pounced. Clint was not an easily frightened man. The thought of what awaited him, however, kept the archer buried securely in his unconscious mind. He hated the sense of cowardice that prevailed over him. Clint never backed down from a fight.

Dimly, Clint tried to concentrate on his body, to see just how damaged he really was beyond the level of pain. His concentration kept skittering sideways, though, shifting to memories of Tasha and what she'd done to him. Bile rose in his throat but he didn't have enough control to keep it from dribbling out of his slack mouth. It didn't really register anyway. He was too busy trying to figure out why the pain seemed to be staying at a distance despite the fact that he'd inadvertently awaken slightly. Clint's mind finally cooperated enough that the realization that the pain was being held behind a barrier of drugs surfaced.

Tentatively, being very careful to move slowly, Clint allowed his consciousness to float slowly towards the surface of his mind. The barrier maintained its integrity. As the blonde archer came around, the world trembled underneath him. Startled, momentarily confused, Clint tried to push up off his stomach, to face whatever was coming at him. The barrier between the pain and his body cracked.

Pain flowed through Clint's mind and body like ink in water. It took his breath away, his eyes squinted shut and his face became a mask of agony. When he finally could breathe, it came in shallow gasps as the pain continued to ravage his system. Tears leaked down from his tightly closed eyes and yet the archer was able to feel that the world around him continued to shake at random intervals.

"Agent Barton?" It was Sarah's voice. Beyond the pain raging through him, Clint felt the woman's warm hand come to rest on top of his uninjured hand. In an effort to give him a little comfort, she squeezed gently.

"I'm okay," those were the words Clint wanted to say. What actually came out was little more than a low moan. He seemed to have lost control of his mouth as well as the rest of his body. Sarah didn't notice as the helicarrier shook again. The battle was becoming more intense, she could tell that much just by the frequency of the tremors. Gripping Clint's hand a little tighter, Sarah prepared to wait for the outcome of the battle. Of course she preferred that Fury and his people won but right now she just wanted the helicarrier to stop shaking.

OOOOO

"Sir," Jarvis said. Tony Stark was trying to take down two jets at the moment. They weren't cooperating very well, having learned most of his tricks all ready. Growling under his breath, Tony finally responded.

"Go ahead," he said as he banked steeply to the right, hoping to create a better angle to target the nearest jet.

"I have located the base. Also, I've analyzed the data you obtained from Gordon Cave and I believe I've found a way to reverse the damage done to Ms. Romanoff," Jarvis stated, his voice filling Tony's metal helmet.

"Give Fury the coordinates of the base," Stark ordered as the numbers flashed on his view screen. Banking away from the helicarrier, his only thought was reaching the spot as quickly as possible. "What will fixing Natasha involve?"

"Three drugs that are easily formulated and ten pin point laser strikes to her brain to reset the neurons Mr. Cave realigned," Jarvis stated. He'd all ready run 132,178 simulations to find the right pattern. He was confident that it would 'fix' the woman. What Cave had done was truly revolutionary. Jarvis wondered how many simulations the man had had to run to get it right.

"You make it sound so easy," Stark quipped. He'd left the others behind and was streaking over the forest canopy. On his view screen numbers counted down as he covered the distance towards the base. Over his radio he could hear that the helicarrier had joined the pursuit but he hoped to have the place burning before they got there. He owed Barton that much.

OOOOO

After what felt like an eternity, Sarah felt the helicarrier tremble, the worse shaking yet, followed a few seconds later by a resounding roar. Her heart in her throat, the woman tried to figure out if it was the Hulk or something else. Beside her, Clint shifted slightly. Sarah thought the archer was awake but he'd kept his eyes tightly screwed shut and was breathing rapidly and shallow. After asking Dr. Lawrence for permission, she'd injected Morphine into his right leg but the drug hadn't quite taken affect yet.

"Is it over?" The question floated over to Sarah. It had been one of the nurses. Straining, she waited for the answer.

"I think so," Dr. Lawrence responded. The doctor was hovering over his computer, waiting impatiently for word on what was happening outside. The casualties had stopped coming in, he took that for a good sign. He was also grateful they were running out of room. If anyone else came in he was going to have to put them beside Agent Barton and he didn't want to do that unless absolutely necessary. Knowing a little of his history, Lawrence assumed the archer would prefer the solitude.

"Thank God," the nurse breathed. Sarah had to second that emotion. Looking at Clint's sweaty face, she realized that although the battle might be over, the fight had just begun to get the archer back to what he once was. As she watched, Clint's breathing slowed slightly and deepened a fraction as well. The pain slowly leached from his face as the drug took effect. Still, Sarah held his hand. She wanted Clint to know that he wasn't alone. Now now, not ever again.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The others were back from the fight. They were hovering around Clint, unsure of what to do but not wanting to be away from him. Clint was oblivious, the pain killer keeping him unconscious. Sarah stayed nearby but with that many large bodies in such a small area, she quickly became uncomfortable. As well, she knew that the archer was in good hands so she wasn't as nervous about leaving his side.

"Thank you," Dr. Banner said as the woman tried to sneak away. Thor was standing at the foot of Clint's bed, his angular face intense, his formidable arms folded over his chest as if he were ready to wait for days in that exact same position. Stark was vibrating in the corner, running through the simulations Jarvis had downloaded to his pad. He hated to waste time.

Steve was on the other side of the bed, scanning everyone and everything that was going on. Captain America wasn't usually paranoid but given the archer's luck of late, he didn't want to take a chance that someone else had it in for him. Besides, coming down from the fight, he had a little bit of energy to spare.

For his part, Bruce had quickly read through Clint's chart and knew that the man was stable. There wasn't much he could do for him. The Hulk was hovering in the background, still furious at the man's condition, but Bruce could tell that he wasn't ready to make an appearance. It was as if the big guy knew he would be more hindrance than help. That realization gave the doctor a small sense of peace.

"You're welcome," Sarah whispered as she passed by the dark haired doctor. There really were too many people in this room. As soon as she cleared the overcrowded confines she could breathe much better. Instantly she realized she was in desperate need of a shower. With a final glance at the sleeping archer, Sarah slipped out of sick bay and headed for her quarters.

"I think he did it," Tony muttered. He was rapidly inputting information into the pad as the simulations continued to run. Damn but he'd programmed Jarvis well.

"Think who did what?" Steve asked. He was still being hyper vigilant but he didn't bother to try to stop it.

"Jarvis. I downloaded the information I found at the compound. He's figured out a way to bring Natasha Romanoff back," Tony stated, glancing up at the others. Without bothering to explain further, Stark keyed his communications and rapidly discussed the situation with Hill.

"Would that be a good thing?" Bruce asked before he had a chance to think about it. He missed Natasha, the one who would have killed anyone who'd done this to her partner. He absolutely hated the woman that was being restrained in the bowels of the ship. Just the thought of her was nearly enough to bring 'the big guy' crashing to the surface. "Forget I said that."

The others remained silent while Stark and Hill and then the doctors of sick bay discussed Romanoff's treatment. Clint remained oblivious. The drugs really were good or maybe he was simply too exhausted physically, mentally and spiritually to do anything else.

Strapped securely in the same chair that they'd used on Clint not so long ago, Natasha Romanoff was similarly drugged. For her part it was because they wanted to keep her from doing damage to anyone around her. Even strapped to a chair, drugged unconscious, the woman was still a threat to be reckoned with. There were three guards responsible for watching her. Two were in the room with her while a third stood outside the door, just in case. All three were heavily armed, again, just in case.

OOOOO

The trip home was very short. Fury wasn't wasting any more time now that Case's camps were completely wiped off the map. He wanted to get Hawkeye to one of their more extensive facilities so that the blonde archer could begin the healing process. As well, he wanted to get Black Widow securely placed into the hands of the top neurologists and psychologists in their fields so that they could try to reverse the damage Case had done to her. Thanks to Stark and his AI Jarvis there was a real chance that they were going to be able to reverse the process.

Sitting in his office aboard ship, Fury read over the doctor's report of the extent of Agent Barton's injuries. His blood ran hot and cold at the same time. The fact that Clint's partner and friend could so easily do these things to him was still incomprehensible to the man in charge of SHIELD. Despite Romanoff's early days and all the evil he had witnessed in his life, Nick still had trouble reconciling the woman's actions with the person he knew.

With a deep sigh, Fury bolted up to his feet, closed the file before slipping it into his desk and then he left the room. Hill had informed him that they were within half an hour of home. He wanted to check on Clint before the madness of docking and transferring the two agents began.

It came as no surprise to Fury when he walked into sick bay to find Clint's curtained off cubicle rather crowded. Thor was still standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest while he surveyed everything and everyone within the confines of sick bay. He wasn't taking any more chances with the archer's health. Dr. Banner was a short distance away, speaking with one of the nurses. From the darkness of the man's countenance, he knew something had happened that Bruce hadn't liked.

Stark and Rogers were both seated on Clint's right side. The Captain was wide awake, surreptitiously watching Banner. After all this time it still made him nervous when the dark haired doctor became agitated. Stark had given into boredom and was snoring quietly, leaning in the corner of the wall.

With a few quick strides Fury was standing beside Bruce, coming in part way through the conversation. "Is there something I should know?" he asked in an attempt to stop the doctor during his tirade.

Visibly taking hold of himself, Banner ran a hand through his tussled dark hair and turned to face the taller black man. "No, no, it's all right," Bruce said. It wasn't really but he'd also kind of blown it out of proportion because of his over stressed frustration level. Glancing over to where Clint was still soundly sleeping, he turned back to Fury.

"It didn't sound all right," Fury pressed.

"She was doing her job. I just don't like anyone touching Clint right now," Banner admitted. Damn but he wished Sarah was back. He wouldn't have reacted so badly to the nurse checking Clint's vital signs if it had been Sarah. The image of a woman who was vaguely physically similar to Tasha bending over the unconscious man had sent panic through him. The others hadn't been concerned because they had seen her face, from behind Bruce wasn't sure who it was. The resulting fear and anger nearly brought Hulk storming to the forefront. Using every ounce of strength he had, Bruce kept the big guy under control.

"Well, Dr. Banner. I understand where you're coming from but I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to it. We are almost to New York. Very soon a lot of people will be prodding and prying at Hawkeye," Fury responded. While he understood all too well, the level of agitation the doctor was demonstrating was a little unnerving. They had barely begun to return to normal after the last time Hulk had rampaged through the helicarrier. He wasn't sure the machine could survive another one.

"I know," Bruce breathed as he watched the nurse disappear around a corner before turning to head over to Clint's bed. He was overreacting. No matter how many times he told himself that, the image kept coming back. It was going to be a very long time before it went away.

"If you need me, I'll be on the bridge. I don't like them to dock it without me," Fury said, a small smile on his face. It wasn't strictly true, he just loved watching his crew working like a single entity which was never more obvious than when they docked. Nodding at the Avengers, he quickly left the room.

On his way out, Fury passed Sarah. The woman was entering the sick bay. As she moved by him with a nod of acknowledgement, Fury could tell that she'd had a shower and changed her clothes. That was just as well, Sarah hadn't changed since they'd come on board, she'd been that worried about Clint. While they all were, she was the one having bad dreams about what was happening to him. For a brief moment Fury thought about comparing what she'd told them about her dreams and what had actually happened. Then the thought disappeared as he stepped onto the bridge.

"How is he?" Sarah asked as she padded up beside Dr. Banner. He was still the Avenger she felt the most comfortable with other than Clint. The others still intimidated her to no end.

"Stable," Bruce responded. With a quick glance at the woman standing beside him Bruce was immediately aware of one fact. All of them were in definite need of a shower. All of them had come to Clint's bedside directly from the fight. No one had taken the time to clean up. Now that Sarah was there to watch over Clint, it seemed like a very good idea. "Could you keep an eye on him? I could really use a shower."

"Of course," Sarah responded. She was itching to go to Agent Barton's side but the presence of the others prevented her. Distantly she hoped the others would take the hint and leave too.

"Come to think of it, I could use one too," Stark stated after he'd started awake. Trying to not be obvious, he wiped the drool off the side of his face. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Now, though, he felt particularly grubby. Like dominoes, the other two agreed. Before Sarah could say 'Rumplestiltskin' she was alone with the sleeping archer.

Sarah paused long enough to glance around to make sure the others were gone before she moved into the curtained area. In a heartbeat she was by Clint's side. She checked him over thoroughly, taking his vitals, etc before settling into Stark's chair. It was pulled closer to the bed so that she could take hold of his uninjured hand. She was still there minutes later as the helicarrier came to rest beside Avenger's tower.

OOOOO

The doctor in charge of Clint's case had tried to separate Sarah from his patient as soon as they entered the medical wing of Avenger's tower. He quickly found out that it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped. Barton had a death grip on the woman's hand. Despite the morphine he was on, somehow he was aware of the activity around him. The plump woman's face was bright red in mortification but she couldn't get Clint to let go either.

"I'm sorry," Sarah breathed. She was left standing beside Clint's bed while the medical personnel buzzed around them. It was killing her to let these strangers touch the agent but she knew she had to let them. At this point Clint needed as much help as they could give him.

Before the orderlies had moved Clint from the helicarrier to the tower, the archer appeared to have had a nightmare. He'd begun to thrash around on the bed, his breathing was irregular and shallow and the muscles under his tormented skin twitched uncontrollably. Then his hand had tightened around hers. Sarah cried out as the pressure abruptly increased but she hadn't tried to get away. If Clint found any measure of comfort from her physical presence then she wasn't going to try to break contact with him. Still, tears sprang in the corners of her eyes as the pain registered.

When the orderlies arrived, Sarah finally tried to disengage herself from the archer's strong hand. She couldn't do it. Neither could the orderlies. The decision was made for her to come too. They didn't want to injure the man further.

Now, Sarah was standing in the room feeling like a bump on a log while the nurses, doctors and technicians tried to get around her. One of the larger men tried to pry Clint's finger's open but again had to stop for fear of breaking one or more of them. Finally, the doctor in charge ordered sedation. Once it was administered and took effect finally Sarah was able to retrieve her aching fingers. Without waiting for instructions, she slipped out of the room into the hallway beyond.

"How is he?" Dr. Banner asked as soon as he saw her. He and the others were hovering in the hallway. It was as close as the medical staff would let them get. While Bruce had been Clint's doctor before, he'd had to hand the man's care over to the specialists that were in the room. He'd done all that he could. Bruce had to depend on them to get Clint the rest of the way.

"I'm not sure," Sarah responded, surreptitiously rubbing her arching fingers. "I think he's about the same. They were just beginning their examinations."

"Let's go find the waiting room," Captain Rogers suggested. He didn't want to leave but the five of them were impeding traffic in the hallway, particularly Thor. Damn but the god was a big man. Thor was standing in the center of the hallway doing his statue impression again. It seemed to be the position the man was most comfortable.

"This way," Tony stated absently. With a final glance at the closed doors, the billionaire led the group to the elevator. He wasn't content to wait in a sterile waiting room. They were going up to his apartments so that they could be comfortable and maybe watch what the doctors were doing with the closed circuit TV he'd had installed on a whim. On his way by, he lightly steered Sarah along with them. He didn't know the woman well but he'd recognized the look in her dark eyes. She'd been getting ready to rabbit. He wasn't going to let that happen. Not yet anyway.

OOOOO

"Do they know you have this set up?" Bruce asked. He was thoroughly engrossed in what was taking place on the big screen TV mounted on the wall. While he couldn't be in the room while they examined and treated Clint, this was definitely the next best thing.

"It's my building. I can set up what I want to," Tony responded with that all too familiar twinkle in his eye. He chose not to watch the screen, as did Thor and Rogers. They'd all ready seen too much of the other man's body as it was. They wanted to leave him with some sense of dignity. Besides, it quite honestly made the three of them a little queasy. For her part Sarah was standing by the wall length window staring absently over the city. "Who's ready for a drink?"

OOOOO

"What happened? Why am I here?" Natasha Romanoff asked. She was distinctly aware of the fact that she was secured to a medical chair and that there were three guards in the room standing behind Director Fury. She was also aware of a deep, dull ache inside her skull. Something wasn't right.

"Agent Romanoff," Fury stated as he stepped forward. It took every ounce of will he had to see the woman as the assassin Clint convinced him to recruit and not the woman who had taken such delight in torturing Hawkeye. He could see the distress and concern in Tasha's bright eyes. He just wished he could trust his intuition when it came to her. Unfortunately, it had all ready been proven wrong once, he wasn't taking a second chance. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Tasha blinked at her boss for a moment, trying to access her memories. Something was very wrong. Things in her mind were slow and sluggish, not at all the way they should be. "I was on a roof top, watching my target. Now I'm here. What's going on?"

"Agent Romanoff, we have a good deal to discuss," Fury said as he settled into the only other chair in the room. The doctors had said the procedure was a success. He was holding judgement. While Natasha seemed like her old self, she had seemed perfectly fine after returning from her last mission too. Fury wasn't sure when he'd believe she was okay but he did know it was going to take a good long time before he fully trusted her again.

"What did I do?" Tasha asked. Her heart was in her throat. She had absolutely no memory but from the grim expression on Nick Fury's dark face she knew it was bad. The fact that Hawkeye wasn't here filled her heart with dread. Once Fury started to explain what had happened, she had to turn her face away from the man as she listened so that her boss couldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes. How could she have done these things? How could she ever face Clint again?

OOOOO

Days passed with relative calm. The doctors did everything to help the archer recover from his injuries. Now they just had to give him time. Within a day of the doctor reducing Clint's sedatives and morphine the archer was trying to get out of bed. He was tired of lying around. Under normal circumstances that would have been a good thing but given the condition of his back, the doctors wanted him to stay in bed for at least another twenty four hours to allow it more time to heal. Clint disagreed.

"I'm fine," Clint grated. His back felt like it was on fire despite the morphine they were still pumping into his body but he didn't care. He was tired of staring at the floor or the wall or the ceiling and just wanted out. His back, his fingers, and everything else would heal better once he got home. Well, at least out of here.

Every time Clint thought about his apartment images of Tasha raping him, hurting him rampaged through his mind. He wasn't sure he was quite ready to go back there yet but he hadn't bothered to tell the others. Not yet anyway. The other members of his team kept coming around to check on him. Bruce would always check his medical files on the pad at the foot of his bed before looking up at him. At first it irritated the hell out of the blonde archer but after the fourth and fifth time he got used to it. Thor didn't say much mostly he worked on perfecting his statue impression. He did manage, however, to intimidate the nurses who were extra careful whenever he was around. This amused the god and caused him to do it even more.

For their parts, Rogers and Stark came frequently but only for a few minutes. They really didn't have much to say to Clint, especially when he was too drugged to be aware, but they needed to make sure he was okay. Watching Clint sleep over the CCTV was just kind of creepy now that they were allowed back into the room. Stark wasn't sure he'd ever tell the younger man about the fact that they'd had access to everything the doctors had done to him. Somehow that didn't seem like such a good idea.

At the moment, though, all four Avengers were currently in the room. It hadn't been planned but had happened anyway. All four of them were feeling a little uncomfortable bearing witness to the argument going on between doctor and patient.

"That is the drugs talking, Agent Barton," the doctor responded. He was beginning to lose patience with the man. He had a one track mind. Right now that track included getting out and not worrying about what it would do to him to move around that much. "You need to stay in bed for at least 24 hours. Then we will see about getting you up for short periods."

Before the conversation could continue, Director Fury came into the room. He looked very serious and the gravity of his demeanour immediately dampened all other emotions in the room. "There is someone here to see you, Agent Barton," he announced. "The four of you should stay."

This caught everyone off guard. Instinctively, Thor, Banner, Rogers and Stark moved between the door and the still horizontal Clint. Despite his protestations, the archer had yet to get off the hospital bed. Now he lay completely still, on his less injured side with pillows propping him up. The nurses were trying to keep him from getting bed sores. Clint appreciated their efforts but he still missed his own bed more.

Stepping away from the door, Fury swallowed his misgivings and allowed Natasha Romanoff to be escorted into the room. The Avengers' first reactions were to attack the red haired woman but they were brought up short by Fury who simply shook his head no. Hesitantly, Natasha stepped through the door and tried to see Clint beyond the four bodies between them. For the first time in a very long time Natasha felt fear. The last time had been when she'd had to bring Banner into the fold. Looking at the dark haired doctor now, she was less afraid that the Hulk was going to make an appearance and more afraid of what Clint was going to do. Swallowing thickly, she took another step into the room.

_AN: Hi. I'm so so so sorry I've taken so long to post this. Unfortunately, as always, real life has gotten in the way. If you've stuck with him all I have to say is 'Thank you!'._

_I'm not sure how many more chapters there are going to be in this story. I'm coming to the end, I know that much. Another story has been gnawing at my mind lately. Of course it involves beating the crap out of Clint but it has a different edge to it. One morning I had a thought...what if Clint wasn't the only one who was possessed by the power of the Tesseract? What if Loki had been possessed by the power while in the hands of the Chitauri? What if he wasn't nearly as evil as the movie made out? Then both of them would be suffering after he escaped from Thor, returned to earth and kidnapped Barton. Are you interested? Let me know. _


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"What is it?" Clint asked. He knew something or someone threatening was on the other side of the wall of muscle and sinew but their bulk was keeping him from seeing. Intuitively he knew it had to be Natasha. No one else would make his other team members this on edge.

"Romanoff," Stark grated. There was no way he was letting the woman get a clean line on the archer. The man wasn't yet begun to heal. There was no way he was letting Natasha get the chance to injury the archer further.

Several emotions raged through Clint's mind. On one hand he never wanted to see the woman again. Every time an image of Nat came to mind it was of her when she was torturing Clint. On the other hand, he desperately missed his partner. It was too easy with Nat, rarely did he have to speak when they were together. They knew each other well despite the number of secrets they still held from each other. He desperately missed being close to someone. Despite the other Avengers' best efforts there was a certain darkness in the two master assassins that set them apart from the others. That darkness had served them well over the years but it was also a barrier that the other Avengers and SHIELD agents would never cross.

"Is she safe?" Rogers demanded, appraising the woman with his eyes.

"Our people are confident," Fury responded. They'd run every test possible, including running her boards versus the ones they'd taken just before she was taken from Avengers tower by Cave. He was the first to admit to himself that it was still a crap shoot though. Only time would tell.

"Somehow that doesn't instil a great deal of confidence," Stark grated.

"Let her through," Clint said as he tried to shift into a less vulnerable appearing position. His body protested angrily but he ignored it. The four men standing guard in front of him exchanged worried looks before they stepped aside. Rogers and Banner moved to one side while Thor and Stark moved to the other.

With a deep calming breath, Natasha stepped forward, ignoring the hulking men on either side of her. All she could see was Clint. Her stomach turned while anger raged through her system at the sight of her partner. She'd known from Fury how much damage had been done to Clint but it hadn't really sunk in until now. In a heartbeat the assassin covered the distance to her friend. Despite a sudden nearly overpowering need to hug the archer, Romanoff moved slowly, deliberately. She was well aware of the five pairs of eyes watching everything. "Clint?" Tasha said quietly as she looked down into those intense blue eyes that she knew all too well but were now so foreign.

Clint didn't respond. Instead, he searched her face, her eyes for any sign of the craziness that had been there before. All he found was shame, concern and anger in the red haired woman's eyes. That gave him a flicker of hope. But then, Tasha had seemed entirely normal until she'd slipped him the drug in his beer.

"Fury told me what I've done," Tasha said as she moved a half step closer. Her arms wanted to reach out and envelope her partner's suddenly small appearing frame. The bruises, cuts, and casts on Clint's body only made her want to do it more. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't remember?" Clint asked. Somehow that was both fair and so incredibly unfair all at the same time. What Tasha had done to him tortured him every time he closed his eyes. It only seemed fair that she too should see the images. Apparently that was not to be.

Natasha dropped her head, the shame overwhelming her for a moment. "No. No, Clint, I don't remember any of it. "

"Well, I guess while I would feel better if you did it's probably just as well that you don't," Clint responded. Beyond Tasha Clint saw movement. His eyes were automatically drawn to the figure that had just slipped into the room. He was relieved to see Sarah standing uncertainly just inside the door. In the tension of the room none of the others had noticed. Despite her size, the woman could move very quietly when she wanted to. Uncertainty and fear burned on her round face as she took in the scene before her. For a split second Clint thought she might launch herself onto Natasha's back in an effort to protect him. A slight smile turned the corners of his mouth. That would be something to see if it wouldn't involve Sarah being badly injured.

"What now?" Stark asked. He didn't like the uncomfortable vibe in the room. He was all for throwing Natasha in a locked cell for the next three years to make sure she was fine. All ready he knew that was going to be an unpopular plan but it worked for him.

"We watch," Thor responded in a grumbling voice. He for one had no plans to head home. Not until he knew for sure that Natasha was back to her old self and Clint Barton was no longer in danger. Well, not from her anyway. Thor wasn't naive enough to think any of them would be kept from danger for long. It was part of their 'job description' as Tony Stark would say.

"That will get boring in a hurry," Clint griped. He was so very tired of being watched, of being poked and prodded and protected. At this moment he was willing to take the chance that Nat was reprogrammed just so he could get back to his life. Well, as soon as his body would let him anyway. He was hopeful though. Despite the shock of seeing his partner again after all he'd gone through, Clint wasn't getting that creepy feeling from her that he'd learned to associate with the woman of late.

"Agent Romanoff will be under escort for a while. After that we will be watching her remotely for several months to come. Unfortunately it will take a good long while for her to win back our trust," Fury responded. If the woman wasn't so damned good at her job they would simply bench her for the foreseeable future. However, there were all ready three missions that needed her special kind of attention. If Clint was in better shape he would send the assassin but that wasn't going to be an option for some time.

"Yeah, that's a brilliant idea," Stark grated.

"If you have other ideas, please, fill me in," Fury said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Actually," Tony responded brightly, being deliberately oblivious of the one eyed man's attitude. "I have several."

At the last second Fury was able to suppress the sigh of exasperation that tried to sneak through his lips. Somehow it shouldn't have surprised him that the billionaire genius would have other options for him. Nodding at the guards still hovering at the door, Fury indicated that this visit was over. All ready Clint was looking rather grey and sweaty. Clearly the man had a long way to go.

"Agent Romanoff," Fury stated, preparing the woman for the guards' advance. The last thing they needed was for the assassin to demonstrate how well she could take the security guards out. If she truly was healed she would allow the two men to lead her away.

With a final thorough appraisal of her partner, Natasha allowed herself to be escorted out of the room. She didn't bother to look at the other Avengers. She could feel their mistrust and anger rolling off them in waves as she passed them. Taking slow, deep breaths as she moved, the master assassin kept her cool. This was humiliating for the woman who was used to causing fear, not anger. But, the time it took her to redeem herself in her team's eyes would be well worth it. The Avengers were the only family she had left. They were worth fighting for. With a glance over her shoulder at the men she loved, Tasha followed the guards down the hallway. She was more determined than ever to do what she had to do.

OOOOO

The silence that followed Romanoff's exit was nearly deafening in it's intensity. Sarah was still hovering by the door. As uncomfortable as she was in the too crowded room she wasn't going to leave until she knew Clint was all right. Across the room she could pick out the subtle clues that the man was quickly running out of steam. Apparently Dr. Banner noticed it too because he began ushering the others towards the door.

Now that he knew the Hulk wasn't going to make an appearance and rip Tasha to shreds he felt better about leaving Clint. If anyone could pick up on the subtle nuances of the woman's psyche somehow he trusted his green skinned counterpart to be the one. Still, seeing Tasha so close to Clint had nearly pushed him over the edge. He'd felt his eyes begin to glow green as she neared the bed. Thankfully, though, the Hulk backed off. As the dark haired doctor turned towards the door he couldn't even feign surprise that Sarah was standing there. He was thankful though, she was the one person who Clint seemed willing to let mother him. And that was definitely what the archer needed in the foreseeable future.

"Take care of him," Bruce said as he brought up the rear. Thor, Stark and Rogers had all smiled at Sarah or otherwise acknowledged her presence as they passed her. All three of them felt better knowing they weren't leaving Clint alone.

"I will," Sarah responded, a shy smile gracing her lips. Now that the others were out of the room it suddenly felt very large, very white and very sterile. No wonder Agent Barton hated it so much. Glancing out the door to make sure the Avengers had left, Sarah padded across the room to Clint's side. The archer had closed his eyes and she thought he might have given in to sleep. But then they opened and came to rest on her face.

"You should get some sleep," Sarah suggested. The man was pale, sweaty and starting to tremble slightly. Reaching out, she placed a hand on Clint's forehead, looking to see if he had a fever. Instead, she found that his skin was cold and clammy. Without a word, she caught hold of a blanket carefully folded at the foot of the bed, shook it out and carefully pulled it over the man's body.

"I'm not tired," Clint quipped. He was exhausted beyond words but somehow he didn't want the woman to know that. She'd all ready seen him at his most vulnerable. He didn't want her to think he was still weak, despite the fact that he currently was.

"Bullshit," Sarah responded, the word slipping out before she had a chance to stop it. Immediately her cheeks turned bright red in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"No, you're right," Clint admitted around the smile that curled his lips. The exhaustion was trying to drag him down but he tried to continue to fight it. As the warmth from the blanket permeated the damp chill of his body, though, he was rapidly losing.

"It's okay. I'll stay until you wake up," Sarah said as she pulled a chair up beside Clint's bed. She'd been stopping in as often as she could but with work and the presence of the others she hadn't had the chance to spend as much time with the archer as she'd have liked. Tomorrow was her day off. She could stay all night if he needed her to. If the doctors would allow it or even if they wouldn't.

"Do you think she's changed?" Clint asked randomly as his eyes fluttered shut. The warm, comforting darkness was descending rapidly. For once he couldn't see the shadows of Tasha's torture hiding in the background.

"I don't know," Sarah answered honestly. "We'll have to wait and see."

"Hmmm," was Clint's only response as he finally gave in and fell into a deep, healing sleep.

Settling into her plastic chair as comfortably as she could, Sarah spent a few minutes watching the blond archer sleep. If Sarah had her way Natasha would never get anywhere near Agent Barton again. But then, Sarah was known to have trust issues. Agents Romanoff and Barton were partners. Eventually they would have to work together. She just hoped desperately that Fury and the others would be absolutely positive she was okay before that would happen. Satisfied that Clint was really asleep and not having a nightmare, Sarah pulled a pocketbook out of her back pocket and began to read. It was going to be a long night but that was okay, she had a long book and a lot of time on her hands.

OOOOO

Two days later Natasha had come to visit Clint three times. Each time it got a tiny bit easier but it was still like pulling teeth for both assassins. Clint was still arguing with the doctor about going home. He hated the hospital room. He hated the doctors and nurses and the very uncomfortable bed. He hated being poked at, prodded and treated like a piece of meat when a bandage needed to be changed. Mostly, he hated that he had no control over what was happening around him.

At a particularly black moment, Clint was considering swinging his legs off the side of the bed and standing up. He still hadn't gained an upright position in all the time he'd been held in the hospital. The doctors and nurses were too concerned about ripping stitches or pulling things that didn't need to be pulled. Clint, however, felt like he was going to explode. As patiently as he could, Clint waited for the current nurse to leave the room. He knew that if he tried to stand up while she was there she'd stop him.

The nurses had Clint up on his more damaged side, trying again to prevent bed sores. The pain wasn't so extreme that it interfered with his thinking but it was enough to keep him awake. The position was also rather conducive to getting the hell out of bed. If only the damned nurse would finish puttering and get the hell out.

In the last two days Clint had pretty much stopped talking to the medical personnel. He was that pissed off that they were keeping him here. When he voiced his opinion they were pretty quick to inject more drugs into his IV bag. That did nothing to reduce the anger that continued to simmer when he came to.

Just as the nurse was FINALLY going to leave, Sarah and Bruce came into the room. There was an odd quality to both of their faces that immediately put Clint on edge. They were up to something. He wasn't entirely sure he was going to like it.

"Good morning," Dr. Banner said, looking at the obviously keyed up Clint. All he got in return was a pointed glare.

As soon as the nurse left, Sarah slipped back out of the room for a moment.

"What's going on?" Clint asked. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. The two had a mischievous air about them.

Sarah returned before Bruce could answer. She was pushing a wheelchair.

"We're breaking you out of this joint," Bruce responded doing his best gangster imitation, which really wasn't very good.

"What?" Clint couldn't believe his ears. With a wide grin, Sarah pushed the wheelchair up beside Clint's bed while Bruce began to unhook all the wires and crap the doctors had plugged into him.

"We're taking you home. Your team mates took a vote. We figure you've suffered enough," Bruce stated. Before Clint could protest or help, Sarah and Bruce gently picked the blond archer up in a two man carry and deposited him as carefully as they could in the seat of the wheelchair. Pain instantly spiked through Clint's system as his back made contact.

"Are you going to be able to make it up to your apartment?" Bruce asked. Sarah was silent during the whole process but Clint could feel her hovering.

"Oh God, yes," Clint breathed. The pain was manageable. Getting the hell out of here was definitely worth a little discomfort. "Can you be disbarred or something for doing this?"

Bruce laughed. "You're thinking of a lawyer. I'm a doctor you'd have to sue me for malpractice." Banner stopped in his ministrations to look the blond man in the eye. "You're not going to sue me are you?"

Clint grinned. For the first time he felt the dark cloud that had been swirling around him since he and Steve were captured began to lift slightly. "Depends. How fast can you push this wheelchair?"

OOOOO

The trio paused outside the door of Clint's apartment. Sarah knew that it was spotless inside she'd made sure of that yesterday. Bruce was having some second thoughts about the archer returning to the scene of some of the more horrendous crimes Tasha had inflicted on him.

"You could come and stay with me for a while," Banner suggested.

"No," Clint responded. He barely managed to keep his unease from reaching his voice. Memories were swirling, trying to force their way to the surface of his mind. Ignoring the two men, Sarah stepped forward and keyed Clint's door. Turning the door handle, she pushed it inwards.

The memories broke through as Bruce pushed the wheelchair over the threshold. For a brief moment or two Clint was overwhelmed by them. They were so vivid that he could hear, feel, smell and taste them. The memories surrounded him, filled him. Just when the archer thought he would be lost in them forever, a cool hand slid into his. Grasping it desperately, Clint managed to ground himself sufficiently to push the terrible images down.

Blinking rapidly, breathing heavily, Clint looked down to see Sarah crouched in front of him, her hand being firmly held by his own, her other one resting on top of them. There was such care and concern in the brown depths of her eyes that they pulled him the rest of the way into the here and now.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked as she continued to look at his face. The man was clearly struggling with something powerful. She had a pretty good idea what and wanted to give him time to recover. Behind the wheelchair, Bruce stayed where he was, waiting to see how Clint handled being home.

"Yeah," Clint managed as he struggled to be control again. Damn but he hated to lose control, ever, for any reason. "I'm okay."

"All right," Sarah said as she carefully stood up and stepped out of the way. She still had hold of Clint's hand though. He was glad of that while Bruce pushed him the rest of the way into his living room. It was then Clint realized that they weren't alone. The other Avengers were waiting impatiently. Tony had tried to convince everyone to yell 'surprise!' but no one would go for it. Thor had no idea what he was talking about and Steve just thought it would be tacky.

"Welcome home, Agent Barton," Thor said, a wide smile gracing his usually stoic features.

"Thanks," Clint mumbled.

"It's time for you to start making new memories in your home. We thought we'd start with a little party," Stark stated. With a flourish he pulled a bottle of probably really expensive wine from behind his back.

There was a knock on the door. Clint barely registered it before Sarah let Pepper and Fury into the room. Tony's girlfriend immediately gave Clint as big a hug as he would allow before moving to stand beside Stark. Fury simply looked down at the nearly released Clint.

"If I see any signs at all that you are not improving, I'm sending you right back to medical," Fury stated. He meant it. He needed Clint healthy and the sooner that happened the better.

"Yes, sir," Clint responded. Then the party went into full swing as Pepper and Tony began pulling trays and trays of food out of the kitchen to lay them on the coffee table. Bruce retrieved glasses for the wine, although he gave Clint water instead. With the drugs that were still percolating through the archer's system, mixing them with alcohol was a really bad idea. Accepting the glass gratefully, Clint downed half of it before turning his attention to his friends. It felt almost complete. Almost. The only one missing was Tasha. Hopefully, with any luck at all, she'd be there to join the next party. If he ever allowed Tony to take over his apartment again, that was.

"I've hired Sarah to be your companion until you are fully healthy," Tony was saying between sips of wine and stuffing cheese and fancy crackers into his mouth. "Is that okay with you?"

Clint glanced down at the hand he still had clasped firmly in his own. Some day he was going to have to get over this attachment to the woman. It wasn't good for either of them. But, not right now. He was thrilled to know that Sarah was going to be there for him. That he wasn't going to have to be alone if he didn't want to. Clint was also glad that it seemed to be over. Well, mostly.

Taking a deep breath, Clint smiled at Stark without reserve. "Yes, that's fine by me."

Beside Clint, Sarah tried to get used to being around all these people. They weren't family so she wasn't sure if she should trust them. Then a thought occurred to her. Family didn't necessarily have to be related to you by blood. Family could be the people you choose to keep around you. Relaxing for the first time in a long time, Sarah was content to watch the Avengers. Things were going to get better. She could feel that in her bones. It was just going to take time. That was something they all had now.

THE END

_A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with me. I'm finally finished, I think. Nothing else about this story is gnawing at me except, of course, where is Gordon Cave? Well, I'll have to see what my twisted mind comes up with. Meanwhile, I've got a lot of ideas for the next story I'm going to write. It's set after the movie and is stand alone from this out. I've mentioned the premise before about Clint and Loki. Bad things are in the future for our blonde archer. ;) I hope you will stick around for that one too. _

_Bye for now!_


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